


we were meant to stay afloat

by dancingonmoonbeams



Series: Seashells and Stars [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Finnick Odair Lives, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Past Character Death, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 55,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25922986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancingonmoonbeams/pseuds/dancingonmoonbeams
Summary: Finnick survives the war. He and Annie decide to be happy.
Relationships: Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair
Series: Seashells and Stars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984061
Comments: 52
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone so I have literally never written fanfiction before but quarantine has me revisiting The Hunger Games and I am in my feelings about Finnick and Annie like it's 2010. This is going to be focused on Finnick and Annie healing so it will reference some of the past abuse/violence but it won't be really explicit. Other THG characters will pop up here and there, plus some original characters. If any chapters have more explicit depictions of violence I'll note that. Also since I've never written fic, if there are other tags I should add (for triggers or anything), just let me know!
> 
> Title is from "whywhywhy" by MisterWives.

_“Go, Katniss!” he shouts, shoving her up the ladder with one hand and striking his trident through the glistening skin of a mutt with the other. “Get out of here!” He grabs the ladder where her foot was moments before, tries to pull himself up, feels teeth on his foot. He kicks, not knowing if his foot makes contact, swings his trident and tries to pull himself up the ladder. If he could just get a foothold -_

_“Finnick!” Katniss screams. He hears the arrow whizzing past his ear, the sickening sound of it piercing the scales of one of the mutts. He feels their wet, warm bodies climbing up, getting closer, grasping his legs and pulling him down. He lashes out with his trident, loses his grip on the ladder. He falls, Katniss’s scream following him, and all he sees is a pair of green eyes watching him. “Annie!” he cries out, and then there is darkness._

**\--**

Finnick opens his eyes, squinting against the bright light that fills his vision. His head fills with memories, the wet heat of the mutts’ bodies, the sickly smell of blood and roses, mixed with sewage and sweat, the darkness. _I am Finnick Odair. My home is District Four. I am the victor of the 65th Hunger Games. I was reaped again for the Quarter Quell. I was rescued. Annie was captured. Annie was rescued. Annie and I are married._ He opens his eyes again with a start. Annie. He shifts his body, tries to feel her warmth next to him, feels only empty sheets.

He raises his hand to rub the memory from his eyes and freezes, registering the bandage on his hand. Cautiously, he sits up. A thin layer of bandages covers one arm and leg, while the skin on his other arm is pink and delicate, like a newborn baby. Stitches creep up his unbandaged leg, the black thread in stark contrast to his surprisingly pale skin. He lifts a hand to his head and discovers chunks of hair missing, feels more stitches on his neck. He laughs softly to himself. If his clients in the Capitol could see him now - charming, beautiful Finnick. A mess of bandages and new skin, barely held together by a needle and thread. At least the outside matches the inside now.

He senses movement to his left and jerks around, arms instinctively reaching for a weapon that isn’t there. A vaguely familiar dark-skinned woman steps into the room, watching him with alert, unblinking eyes. He frowns, tries to place her. Before he can move any further, the woman speaks, her voice soft but strong, clearly used to commanding attention with little effort. “Glad to see you’re still with us, Finnick.”

Her accent sounds familiar. District 8. The way she carries herself reminds him of a victor - she stands tall, but has that look in her eyes that says she knows what it’s like to kill, knows what it’s like to be haunted by the lives you took and the ones that tried to take yours. But she’s not a victor, he would remember her. Suddenly it clicks. He sees her, a bandage on her neck and a rifle strapped to her back. Walking through a hospital with Katniss before fire rains down from the sky. Her name floats across his memory. _Paylor._ They’ve never met, but he saw the footage. He sits up straighter.

“What’s happened?” Finnick croaks, his voice weary.

“It’s over, Finnick. We’ve won.”

Finnick blinks, trying to understand her words. It’s over. The war is over. He shakes his head, tries to focus his thoughts. He finally brings his attention to his surroundings and realizes he is in a bedroom, decorated in the gaudy Capitol style that always makes him nauseous because it reminds him of all the bedrooms he’s been in, all the people who paid for his company and took pieces of him until he could barely recognize himself.

“Where am I?”

“President’s mansion.” Finnick flinches, an involuntary reaction as the smell of blood fills his nose, masked by the cloyingly sweet scent of roses.

“How?” Finnick asks, not sure what exactly he’s asking but hoping Paylor says something to clear the thought of President Snow from his head.

“By all accounts, you should be dead,” Paylor says bluntly. “Everyone thought you were, even the Capitol. But we did a sweep, after the Capitol surrendered. Checked the streets, the sewers, anywhere we thought there might be survivors. Or Capitol allies trying to flee. We found you in one of the tunnels, under a pile of mutts that looked like they had been burned. Our best guess is their bodies somehow shielded you from the blast. We brought you here and treated your injuries. The doctors expect you to make a full recovery, although there will be some scarring.” She says the last part like she knows the physical scars are the least of his worries.

Finnick’s head spins. _I should be dead,_ he thinks to himself. _Everyone thought I was dead._

“Annie,” he says, barely realizing he spoke her name out loud. 

“Miss Cresta is on a hovercraft from District Thirteen as we speak. They were held up a few days because the hovercrafts were needed to transport the wounded,” Paylor says with a soft smile. “She should be here by nightfall.”

Finnick nods, though he doesn’t let himself think about seeing Annie. After all they’ve been through, he won’t believe it’s real until he can feel her in his arms, can smell the scent of the sea in her hair that lingers even though neither of them has seen District Four in months. She’ll be here by nightfall. Unless her hovercraft gets shot down by some hidden Capitol forces. Unless she gives in to the darkness without him there to pull her out of it. Unless the mutts come to finish him off. Finnick forces himself to take a breath and pushes the thoughts of all the ways he could lose Annie aside. “And the others?” He looks back at Paylor.

“We haven’t gotten a full report of casualties from all the districts yet. Katniss is alive, and Peeta. Both are being treated for injuries. Gale Hawthorne was taken into Capitol custody shortly before the surrender, but we managed to free all Capitol prisoners.” She pauses, then continues with a slight tremor in her voice, so slight that Finnick thinks he could be imagining it. “Primrose Everdeen was among those killed in a bomb blast just before the surrender.”

Finnick feels a pain in his chest as he recalls the days and nights he spent in the hospital in Thirteen, barely clinging to reality as his thoughts were with Annie, being tortured while he was helpless to save her. Prim was one of the few people who could get through to him. She sat with him as he cried, held his hands, told him stories about her goat, her cat, anything she could think of to remind him that there was light in the world. She saved him just as much as Plutarch did when he plucked him out of the arena in a hovercraft. Poor, sweet, innocent Prim, gone.

The pain stays in Finnick’s chest as he brings his gaze back to Paylor. “Now what?” he asks.

She shakes her head, a sad smile playing on her lips. “Now, we move forward.”

After Paylor leaves, her words echo in his head. We move forward. Finnick never planned for the future. For the last ten years, his future has belonged to Snow, to the Capitol, all because he was handsome and could wield a weapon. Could kill. They dressed him up, trotted him around like some show pony, celebrated him for being a murderer who could wear the hell out of a suit. Paid for his company and then whispered their secrets, rotting him from the inside out. Moving forward was never in the cards for him.

Finnick tosses restlessly in the bed, feeling jolts of pain where his fragile skin meets the sheets. He is suddenly very aware of where he is, of what he’s seen and done and been forced to do in these rooms. He squeezes his eyes shut, tries to stop the memories from pulling him under.

**\--**

_“Finnick, my boy!” President Snow opens his arms in a sweeping gesture as Finnick enters the study. Finnick moves slowly and stops in front of the President's desk, eyes fixed on the white rose in his lapel. The faint scent of blood reaches his nose, masked by the cloyingly sweet fragrance of the rose. He forces himself to look into Snow’s snakelike eyes. “It is wonderful to see you back here in the Capitol. So many of my friends have been asking after you - they want to know how it feels, being the mentor of our newest victor.” Finnick flinches, then tries to mask the movement with a tilt of his head. Snow mirrors his movement, tilts his head, as he asks, “and how is our dear Annie? Still mad, I presume?”_

_“She’s not mad,” Finnick snarls, unable to stop himself._

_Snow narrows his eyes. “Defensive, are we? I certainly hope there was no… Impropriety in your relationship, Finnick. As you know, relationships between mentors and tributes are strictly forbidden.”_

_Right, because no one wants to pay for a victor who is beholden to some mad girl they rescued from the arena, Finnick thinks to himself. Outwardly, he remains silent, makes an effort to smooth his features into the mask he wears like a second skin in the Capitol. “She was my tribute. I got her out. Nothing more.”_

_“Yes,” Snow says with a nod. “Although, what a sweet story that would be. I am a bit of a romantic, you know.”_

_Finnick can’t help himself - he scoffs._

_Snow straightens up, abandoning all pretense of this being a social call. “You know why I brought you here,” he says sternly. “You spent too much time away with that girl after her Victory Tour. You were instructed to remain in the Capitol, and yet I had to send my men all the way to District Four to find you. Such an inconvenience you’ve been.” He pauses, as if waiting for Finnick to apologize, and presses on. “That being said, you leave me no choice but to place you under 24-hour supervision. For your own good.”_

_Finnick opens his mouth to protest, but Snow raises a hand. “I am not finished.” He places both hands on his desk and leans forward, snakelike eyes boring into Finnick’s until FInnick feels like the President is reading his inner thoughts. “You will remain in the Capitol until I say you may leave. And even then, you will return when you are needed. You will perform as expected and you will not cause any more problems.”_

_“And if I don’t?” Finnick asks, raising his eyebrows._

_Snow leans back, plucks a rose from the vase on his desk, and holds it up to examine it. “Then the girl dies.”_

_Finnick’s blood turns to ice and he thinks of Annie - sees her green eyes wide with panic, her hands covering her ears as she rocks back and forth, trying to shake the feeling of the arena. He feels his arms encircle her, pulling her close as she sobs and cries out the names of those she lost, those she couldn’t save. The sound of Snow snipping the stem of the rose brings Finnick back to the room._

_“I’ll do whatever you want me to,” he says numbly, “as long as she stays safe.”_

_“There,” Snow says with a sickening smile, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”_

**\--**

Finnick feels gentle hands on his body, in his hair, and he stiffens. The hands pull back and he shifts, smells salt air and seawater. His breath catches in his throat and he opens his eyes, sees red hair and green eyes looking back at him, arms poised tentatively as she waits for him to return to her before she wraps him in an embrace. “Annie,” he chokes out, and then they are in each other’s arms, pressing their bodies together to reassure each other that this is real, they are here, they are together. Finnick tastes salt water and realizes he’s crying, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto Annie’s hair. 

They don’t speak, just hold each other. Finnick doesn’t know how much time passes. He again wonders how he is still alive since he clearly hadn’t been breathing properly until now. Eventually, Annie pulls back just enough to examine his injuries.

“Are you in pain?” she whispers, eyes fixated on the jagged stitches on his neck.

“No,” he answers, and he realizes that it’s the truth. Annie’s presence is a better painkiller than any morphling.

They shift to lie more comfortably in the bed, Annie resting her head carefully on an unbandaged part of Finnick’s chest as he brings his arms to hold her in place, fearing that she’ll be taken away again if he lets go of her for just one second. Annie takes one of his hands in hers, counts his fingers, runs her slender fingers along his scarred skin, traces patterns across his palm. 

“I thought I’d lost you,” she breathes. 

“Never,” Finnick says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “I always come back to you.”

They lie in comfortable silence, listening to each other’s breath until the twilight fades to dark and the light of the moon illuminates the room. 

“Finnick,” Annie whispers, “are you asleep?”

“No,” he whispers back, amused.

“Want to go stargazing?”

They find some fur coats in the closet and put them on, striking exaggerated poses for each other and giggling like children who know they’re about to be scolded for being out of bed. They tiptoe out of the bedroom, hands intertwined, and realize they haven’t a clue how to get outside. Finnick leads the way, taking random turns that he thinks will lead to a door but instead lead them back to where they started. They’re both laughing, though Finnick needs to stop to catch his breath every few minutes because the movement and laughter have him winded. Finally, they come to a door and step outside, breathing in the cool night air and watching their breath puff out in front of them. They find themselves in a garden where most of the plants have shed their leaves and are covered with a layer of shining frost. Annie points to a stone bench and they sit, Finnick pulling Annie close as they tilt their heads to look up at the blanket of stars. Finnick feels Annie’s warmth in his arms and feels a memory pulling him under, but this time he lets it wash over him.

**\--**

_“Come on,” Annie giggles, kicking a splash of water at him, “it’s just a little further.”_

_Finnick sighs, feigning exasperation, and quickly sprints until he’s ahead of her, making sure to run through plenty of waves as he passes, sending droplets of ocean water all over her long blue skirt. Soon it becomes an all-out splash fight, each of them scooping up water to throw at the other, dodging sprays of ocean, laughing freely the way they can only do when they’re on the beach, far from the prying eyes and ears of the town and the Victors Village._

_Finnick turns to dodge a wave and feels her come up behind him. Before he can move away, she dumps a handful of water over his head and quickly darts away, her laughter ringing out like the windchimes she hangs all over her porch. He shakes the water from his ears and chases after her, not quite catching up but letting her lead._

_Eventually, they come to the old dock. Years ago, before Finnick was old enough for the reaping, the Mayor had new docks built closer to town, so this one instead became a sort of private dock for the victors, since it’s closer to the Victors Village than anywhere else and not many people like to come to their part of the island. Rumors spread that the Village is haunted, but Finnick knows the truth. It’s the people who live there who are haunted. The houses have nothing to do with it._

_Abandoning the splash fight, they settle at the end of the dock. Finnick is careful to leave a foot of space between them, stealing a glance at Annie as she gazes out across the dark water. The moon plays tricks with her face, casting it in shadow one minute and illuminating every freckle the next. He sees the light reflect off her bright green eyes and forces himself to look away, turning to look out over the ocean._

_“I know what you’re doing when you go away,” she says suddenly. Finnick is used to it, the way she sometimes starts conversations in the middle or doesn’t connect one thought to the next. But this is a conversation he doesn’t want to have, so he pretends he doesn’t understand._

_“What do you mean?”_

_She turns to look at him, her eyes saying she sees through his feigned ignorance. She keeps his gaze as she continues. “I know that they make you go. I know what they make you do.” Finnick’s breath freezes in his chest and he fumbles for something, anything to say to change the subject, to keep him from confirming this worst part of himself, the part he never wants her to see because he is too ruined, too damaged for someone like her. He doesn’t have to worry about breaking eye contact because she looks away first, a shadow falling across her face._

_“I miss you when you go, you know. And I think I still miss you even when you come back.”_

_Finnick finds his voice. “I miss you too.”_

_Her hand rests on the dock between them. Finnick stares at it, wills himself to reach across the distance and take her hand. He wonders what it would be like in another life, how it would feel to sit here with her, holding hands and looking at the stars. No Capitol, no Games, no ghosts haunting them at every turn._

_“I’m right here,” she says, “you don’t have to miss me.”_

_He’s the one who’s missing. He feels like he’s losing more of himself now, can’t put himself back together as quickly as his once could. On his last visit, Snow made it clear that by being near Annie, he was putting her at risk. He’s tried to push her away, tried to stop caring about her, but they keep coming back to each other._

_“Annie, I-” he starts, then pauses. He can’t say the words he wants to say. Saying those words could get her killed._

_Her hand crosses the distance between them. He looks at her and she is still looking out over the ocean, still counting the stars that reflect on the waves, but now her hand is in his and suddenly the distance between them feels so vast, so deep, that he grasps her hand as if it’s his lifeline._

_“I’m not as crazy as everyone thinks I am,” she says._

_“I know that,” Finnick begins to protest but she cuts him off._

_“I’m not saying you think I’m crazy.” Her hand is still in his. Finnick marvels at the warmth, at how neatly their fingers fit together. “But you still think you need to protect me.” Finnick doesn’t say anything. He’s still staring at their hands. “Finnick,” her voice softens. He looks up and sees her green eyes staring at him with such an intensity that he almost needs to look away, to avoid falling deeper than he’s already fallen. “I’m not made of glass.”_

_And then her lips are on his and Finnick forgets everything. He forgets Snow, the Capitol, the Games, the running, the hiding. He forgets everything that isn’t Annie Cresta. Her red hair blowing in the breeze, her slender fingers repairing a fishing net while she hums to herself, her skirt gathered up in one hand as she wades in the tidepools collecting shells to place in neat lines on her windowsills. He gives in to the kiss, intense and gentle at the same time, and feels something he’s never felt before and knows he’ll never feel with anyone else. Anyone else. The rest of his world comes flooding back and he breaks away, pulling his hand from Annie’s and burying his face in his hands, trying to push back the memories threatening to wash over him._

_“Finnick,” she says gently, her hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay.”_

_“You don’t understand, Annie,” he says desperately, unable to look at her, unable to let her see him. “My life… It doesn’t belong to me. They’ll never let this happen. We can never be happy.”_

_She’s silent for so long that he finally looks up, if only to make sure she’s still there. She looks at him with a sad smile on her lips and gently reaches out to stroke his cheek. “We can try.”_

**\--**

“Look,” she nudges him with her elbow and points to a cluster of stars. “The whale.” He follows her finger and sees the familiar constellation, the same one they would find in the sky when they sat on their dock at home in District Four. He can’t decide if it’s comforting or frightening that the Capitol has the same stars. Part of him wants the stars to belong only to him and Annie, safe at home by the ocean.

“Do you remember when you first kissed me?” Finnick asks.

Annie shifts to look at him, a questioning look in her eyes. “Of course.”

“I was so scared,” he says as he brushes a stray hair from her face. “So scared that they would hurt you and it would be my fault. I thought you were so brave. I always knew you were brave. You wouldn’t have gotten through the Games if you weren’t.” She takes in a sharp breath, as she always does when she thinks about her time in the arena. He pauses, searching her face until he knows it’s okay for him to go on. “That was the first time since my Games that I even thought about what would make me happy. I never thought I’d be allowed to find that out.” He takes her face in his hands, feels tears coming to his eyes, “I think we have a chance now, Annie. Snow is as good as dead, he can’t control us anymore.” The tears fall. “Let’s be happy, Annie. Let’s show them that they didn’t break us.”

She’s crying now too. He presses his lips to hers, softly at first and then with more urgency, reveling in the fact that they can do this now. They can kiss, here in the open, in the middle of the Capitol, and nothing will happen. No handlers coming with their tasers and syringes to drug him back into submission. No President selling him to the highest bidder, threatening to kill the one person he needs most in his life if he doesn’t perform. They break apart, and Annie laughs softly.

“Well, about that whole… ‘Let’s be happy’ thing,” she says, a smile spreading across her face. “Finnick, I’m pregnant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're not going to think too hard about how Finnick survived a mutt attack plus being blown up, cool?
> 
> This is my first time writing anything so if you stuck around and read it, thanks so much! I'm not sure how much of a fandom there is for THG in 2020 but if you're here you rock.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how regularly I'll be updating but so far I have about 5 chapters written. This chapter features my queen Johanna Mason, who will definitely pop up in later chapters too.
> 
> Dialogue in the scene with the victors and Coin is from Mockingjay and belongs to Suzanne Collins.

Finnick floats through the next few days of his recovery. Doctors check his bandages once a day and make sure his stitches are healing properly, and other than that he and Annie are left alone, just the way they like it. They pull the blankets over their heads to block out the garish Capitol decor and it’s almost like they’re back home in District Four, holding each other and listening to the waves crash into the shore.

For the first few days, they don’t talk much, content just drinking in each other’s presence. They don’t make love, either - it’s an unspoken understanding between them that it wouldn’t feel right in this Capitol bed, would send Finnick back to the darkness filled with groping hands, unfamiliar bodies taking more of him every time. Annie strokes his hair, his scars, his face, and he feels pieces of himself falling back into place.

As they lay in their private world, Finnick touches his hands to Annie’s stomach, tries to imagine the new life growing inside her. He tries to picture their baby, with Annie’s green eyes and his bronze curls. They whisper about showing their baby the ocean, walking hand in hand along the shore and collecting seashells, dreams and plans for the future that they are careful not to say too loud, for fear they’ll be stolen away.

When nightmares come for one of them, the other is there with soft touches and kisses and reassurances that the horrors in their mind aren’t real, they aren’t there, they’re safe together. Finnick starts to dream again, sees Annie rocking their baby in Mags’s old rocking chair, sees him teaching his child how to tie the sails of his father’s old boat. He wakes feeling rested, feeling his strength return along with a cautious hope for the future.

**\--**

One morning, he wakes to see Johanna Mason lounging in his bed, hands behind her head as she stares at the ceiling. “Oh good, you’re up,” she says drily, “got any morphling?”

Finnick almost bursts into tears at the sight of her - she has more color in her cheeks than the last time he saw her, and her bones aren’t showing anymore. Her hair has grown back and she almost looks like the same Johanna Mason he met on her Victory Tour years ago. 

“Not you too,” she groans, “everyone around here is always crying. And then telling me it’s okay if I need to cry and that I’m safe here. Why are we all so fucking damaged?” Finnick laughs, flicking her ear as he sits up and reaches for the glass of water Annie left by the bed. 

“And to what do I owe this pleasure, Ms. Mason? Here to steal my virtue?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

She scoffs. “Been there, done that, Odair.” 

He hits her with a pillow.

“Excuse you, I am terribly injured.” She waves a medical bracelet in his face.

“Join the club,” he rolls his eyes and holds up his own bracelet.

“I like your new look, by the way. Very beauty turned beast.” Finnick sees in her eyes that she understands how he feels about his scars. In a way, his last act of rebellion was marring the perfect golden boy the Capitol turned him into. The scars are a reminder that he's not beholden to them anymore, that he's more than a piece of meat they can buy and take apart. That he’s finally shedding Capitol Finnick and can become anyone he wants to be.

They look at each other for a moment, their shared history and knowledge of everything they’ve been through passing between them. “Were you told to go to a meeting later?” Finnick asks.

Johanna rolls her eyes and flops down on the pillows. “The guard outside my room reminded me like, twenty times. Apparently I’m not allowed to knock him out so I gave him the slip and came here. Thought I’d walk in on something more scandalous. Where’s your blushing bride?”

Finnick takes a sip of water to obscure his face. Annie is with Katniss’s mother. The two developed a bond during her hospital stay in Thirteen - when Finnick asked Annie about it, she said simply, “she gets it.” Finnick was reminded of the moment in the arena when Beetee mentioned the canary in the coal mines, remembered the grim set of Katniss’s face when she spoke about bad air in the mines, and recognized the same look in Mrs. Everdeen’s eyes when she cared for Annie. A look that said she was all too familiar with the impulse to pull away and shut out the world, but that she knew in the end it was better to let the world in. 

Mrs. Everdeen - Clara, she repeatedly asked them to call her - was one of the first people to know about Annie’s pregnancy. Annie goes to see her some mornings, and Finnick feels guilty that he hasn’t joined her. He tells himself it’s because he’s still in recovery, but he knows he can’t face her, can’t bring his joy at having a child into her world where she’s lost both of her own (Paylor informed him during her last visit that Katniss still hasn’t spoken, seems dead to the world). 

“Visiting a friend,” he tells Johanna. She narrows her eyes. 

“Guess I’ll have to keep you company for now,” she says, stealing the pillow from his side of the bed and adding it to her stack. He watches her, amused, and marvels again at how they ended up here. Johanna has just as many bad memories of this place as he does, maybe even more, and yet she’s here, taking up half his bed and stealing his pillows.

Johanna groans as Finnick starts to cry again. 

**\--**

As their meeting draws near, Finnick and Johanna set out to find Annie. Finnick hears Johanna mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like “of course the golden boy doesn’t have a guard reminding him where he needs to be every five minutes” and he chuckles. They find Annie in the hospital wing and she greets them both with a kiss on the cheek, then takes Finnick’s hand. 

They enter an opulent room where ten chairs sit around a circular table. Finnick sees Beetee in conversation with Lyme, a former victor from District Two who became a rebel leader and apparently made it out of the war alive. By the time Finnick was in the Games, she was too old to be in demand in the Capitol anymore, but he knows she has her scars. He remembers one night, a few years after he won the Games, when he stumbled into a hotel bar after meeting with a client and saw Lyme sitting at the end of the bar, methodically twirling a knife between her fingers with a vacant expression on her face. He’s not surprised she joined the rebels. 

Finnick, Annie, and Johanna take their seats and are quickly joined by Enobaria (whom Johanna greets with a snarl), Peeta, who rests his hand on Finnick’s shoulder before he drops into his seat, and Haymitch, smelling and looking like he’s greatly enjoying his release from the prohibition of District Thirteen. 

Katniss is last to enter. Finnick watches her closely, tries to match the grief-stricken woman he sees in front of him with the girl twirling on stage in a sparkly dress, giggling as an audience applauds and cheers for her with a familiar hunger in their eyes. She meets his gaze and he thinks he sees a flicker of something, relief maybe, pass across her face, but it’s gone before he can place it.

“What’s this?” she asks.

“We’re not sure. It appears to be a gathering of the remaining victors,” Haymitch answers.

Katniss’s face contorts in confusion. “We’re all that’s left?”

Finnick’s ears are ringing. He grips Annie’s hand tighter under the table. There had to have been around fifty of them still alive before the Quell. Half of them were reaped. Eighteen died in the arena, six were rescued. He looks over at Annie and senses she’s doing the same math in her head. The Games are a death sentence for everyone. Sometimes it just takes a little longer. He suddenly feels very tired.

He brings his focus back to the room as Coin enters, settles a dispute between Johanna and Enobaria, and wastes no time telling them why she gathered them all together. Another Hunger Games. With Capitol children. And they are the lucky ones who get to decide if it happens. 

Annie gasps and Finnick feels her fingernails digging into his palm as her hands curl into fists under the table. He’s only half listening to the argument that escalates around him and is startled when he hears Peeta say Annie’s name. He looks at Peeta, sees him looking at Annie with a pleading look in his eyes. Something passes between the two of them and Annie shakes her head, knuckles still white as she holds onto Finnick. “I vote no,” says Annie, then she looks at him. She subtly touches her free hand to her stomach. “I vote no too,” Finnick says quietly, not looking away from Annie. 

He doesn’t listen to the rest of the votes. Somehow he already knows the outcome and he doesn’t want to hear it confirmed, doesn’t want to hear his friends agree to sentence more children to death.

**\--**

_“My sister’s pregnant,” Annie announces as she bursts into the kitchen, depositing her collection of shells and sea glass on the table._

_Finnick looks back from where he stands at the stove, stirring the chowder he made for dinner, “wow,” he says “that’s a big deal.”_

_Annie collapses into a chair. “I’m going to be an aunt,” she says, puzzled, “I don’t know how to be an aunt.”_

_Finnick chuckles. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”_

_They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes as Annie sorts her shells and Finnick cooks, occasionally bringing a spoonful over for Annie to taste._

_“I could never do that,” Annie says suddenly. She laughs, quick and sharp, and then is silent. Confused, it takes Finnick a minute to remember what they were talking about but when he does, he sets down his spoon and sits across from her, waiting for her to continue. She chews her lip and fidgets in her seat, sorting shells into piles and then taking the piles apart and starting all over again. After undoing and redoing her work three times, she places her hands flat on the table and looks at Finnick._

_“She’s going to have a baby and then that baby is going to be old enough to be made to kill other babies and then all the babies will die.” Her eyes fill with tears and she clasps her hands over her ears, and he knows she’s trying to block out the sounds of the arena, the screams, the tributes gasping for air and choking as the water takes them._

_Finnick moves to her side and perches on the edge of her chair so he can circle his arms around her. He speaks in a low voice, hoping his voice will cut through the water. “Annie, you’re safe. You’re home in District Four. The Games are over. You’re not in the water. You’re safe.” He repeats his words over and over until he feels her coming back to him, sees her slowly lower her hands. She rests her head on his shoulder and he feels her tears soak through the fabric of his shirt._

_“It’s not fair,” she whispers._

_Finnick can’t argue with that. He stays silent and presses a kiss to her forehead, lets her stain his shirt with her tears._

**\--**

The meeting of the victors unsettles Finnick. Annie’s arrival brought a reprieve, but the frank discussion about killing Capitol children quickly snapped him back to reality. They are still in the Capitol, still in the Games. He’s starting to think they’ll never get out. 

They follow the other victors to Snow’s execution. Finnick knows he should feel something - relief, vindication, happy even - that the man who sold him, abused him, tortured and killed his loved ones, and destroyed his hopes for the future is about to meet his end but he just feels empty. He and Annie hold back, putting as much space between the other victors and themselves as they can on the spacious balcony. The crowd swells and shouts as the guards walk Snow to the post set up in the middle of the City Circle. Finnick hears a strangled sound and realizes it came from his own throat. He stares at Snow, sees the rose pinned above his heart and the smell of blood and roses fills his nostrils. His vision blurs, his breathing becomes shallow, and it’s all he can do to keep from collapsing when he suddenly hears silence. He looks up in time to see President Coin fall to the ground, Katniss’s arrow in her chest.

“We need to go,” he hears Annie whisper beside him. She pulls on his arm, trying to move back into the mansion and away from the mob that seems to materialize out of nowhere in the square below them. “Finnick!” she cries in a panicked voice. Her voice reaches his ears and he jumps, takes her hand and follows her into the mansion, through the maze of hallways until they reach their room. He thinks the ground is moving, thinks the mob must have broken through the doors and is tearing down the mansion, then realizes he’s the one that’s shaking. His breath comes in gasps as he sobs, clinging to Annie as she strokes his hair and makes soothing noises in his ear.

When he has no tears left in his body, he looks up at Annie and sees her eyes are rimmed with red. “Let’s go home,” he whispers.

**\--**

They arrange to take the first hovercraft they can to District Four. Before they leave, Finnick goes to Johanna’s room to say goodbye. “Finally realized this place is still the same soul-sucking hellhole it always was?” she asks with a grim smile.

He laughs. “I’m ready to never see the Capitol again in my life.”

Her face twitches, and she pulls him in for a tight embrace. “You can always come see me in Seven,” she whispers. “And maybe I’ll make it to Four someday. You might have to knock me out to get me near the water but I could do it.”

Finnick pulls away and grins at her. “If I told you there will be a niece or nephew that will want to meet you, would that make you more or less likely to come visit?”

Johanna gasps and smacks his arm. “You fucker, I knew it!” She turns away, tries to hide the tears that fill her eyes.

“Aw, Jo, are you crying?” Finnick laughs, then arranges his face into a concerned expression and lowers his voice, “you know it’s okay to cry. You’re safe here.” 

She smacks him again, harder this time, and he yelps. “If you keep hitting me I’m going to uninvite you,” he says.

“No you won’t. You’d miss me too much,” Johanna replies, more sincere than he’s ever heard her sound. It hits him, how much he needs her, how happy he is that she intends to stay in his life.

“You’re right,” he says, and he pulls her into another hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read on THG Wiki that the actress who played Katniss's mother named her character Clara so I went with it. I like the idea that she would have connected with Annie in Thirteen because of their similar reactions to withdraw as a result of their trauma.
> 
> I also added Lyme (she's the commander in District Two when they take the Nut in the book) into the surviving victors because otherwise the numbers would have been off for voting on the final Games and with Finnick voting no, it would have been tied. It didn't make sense to me to change the outcome since that's a big catalyst for Katniss killing Coin and I wanted to explore how that vote would impact Finnick.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finnick and Annie return to District Four and start to rebuild their lives together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for this chaper: some discussion of Finnick's past abuse and the resulting feelings.
> 
> You might notice I added a final number of chapters - with what I have planned out, I think this will be ten chapters, plus one final chapter that's more of an epilogue. I keep moving things around though, so I may end up changing that. Thanks for reading so far!

The hovercraft lands on the outskirts of District Four, leaving Annie and Finnick to walk into town. Finnick steels himself, not sure what he expects to find as they approach the town he once knew like the back of his hand. The last time he saw District Four, he was on a train to the Capitol, having had no opportunity to say goodbye before being sent to certain death. The last time Annie saw District Four, she was being dragged out by Peacekeepers to punish him. Annie’s steps falter and Finnick can feel her shaking beside him.

“You’re safe,” he whispers in his ear, “we’re safe.” He’s not sure which of them needs more convincing. 

Annie nods. Still trembling, she grips Finnick’s hand tighter and takes small, deliberate steps forward. As they get closer to town, they see signs of the war - abandoned homes, piles of belongings likely dropped as people fled, piles of rubble that still smoke slightly. He steels himself as they round the corner into the main square. Workers move around with scarves over their faces, pushing wheelbarrows filled with broken stones, bricks, and glass. The Justice Building still stands tall, but its roof has caved in and the once impressive facade is scarred and cracked by bullet holes. He takes a cursory glance around the square and sees most of the shops sustained similar damage, leaving glass from shattered windows sparkling from the street like stars on the ocean. 

Wordlessly, Finnick and Annie cross the square and take the path toward the commercial docks. As they leave the square, the vast expanse of the sea comes into view for the first time and they both stop, letting the scent and sound of the waves wash over them. On that train to the Capitol, Finnick had accepted that he would never see the ocean again. He wonders if Annie thought the same thing. He hears her laugh softly beside him and looks to see her bring her hand to her cheek, looking out with a dazed expression. 

Finnick searches for the familiar sight of colorful fishing boats and sailboats dotting the ocean by the docks, but sees only blue. “Excuse me,” he says to one of the workers passing by. The worker stops short, a flicker of recognition in his eyes as his gaze darts from Finnick, to Annie, and back to Finnick. “What happened to the docks?”

“Capitol sent in bombs,” the man replies, wiping sweat off his brow. “Right after, uh, right after the Games,” he finishes quickly, shooting Finnick a guilty look. Finnick nods, a familiar voice up in his head reminding him that all of this destruction was his fault, his fault, his fault.

“Thanks,” he replies, and turns to walk toward the village.

“For what it’s worth,” the worker calls after him, “they probably would have bombed us even if you died.”

His blunt honesty catches Finnick by surprise, and he turns back and laughs. “I guess so.”

“Anyway, uh, good luck to you two,” the worker says awkwardly, then marches away to rejoin his crew.

Finnick looks at Annie and sees she is still staring at the horizon, lost in thought. He’s not sure she even noticed his conversation. He follows her gaze across the water, feeling the breeze ripple through his hair.

\--

_“You have to be patient, Finnick,” his father’s exasperated voice rings out from the other side of the deck. “Staring at the net won’t make the fish come.”_

_“But we dropped it like an hour ago!” Finnick cries, “I’m bored!”_

_His father chuckles. “Son, it’s barely been ten minutes. Here, come tie this sail for me.”_

_Finnick obliges, dashing over to show off the knots he’s been practicing whenever he can get his hands on a rope. Caspian Odair has spent most of his life on the sea, taking over the fishing boat after his father died in a freak storm when he was only thirteen. Now that he has his own children, he wants them to feel as comfortable on the water as they do in school, wants them to have opportunities, doesn’t want them to have the burden of feeding an entire family on their shoulders like he did when he was so young._

_Finnick thinks his father’s willingness to take him out on the water today might have something to do with the reaping tomorrow. Finnick is still two years away from having his name entered, but his older brother Adrian will have his name entered twelve times. Finnick’s father won’t let Adrian take out tesserae for him, but couldn’t talk him out of taking it for himself and Finnick. Finnick doesn’t understand why his father is so worried. Even if Adrian’s name is called, someone always volunteers._

_Adrian emerges from the cabin and slaps his hand on Finnick’s shoulders. “Nice knots, bro,” he says with an approving glance. “Any fish yet?”_

_“Not sure,” Finnick sighs, “Dad said I was too impatient.”_

_Adrian laughs. “Yeah, he’s all about patience out here. Let the ocean do her thing, right?” He winks at Finnick, then drops his voice to an exaggerated whisper. “Keep working those sails, I’ll check the nets.”_

_Finnick watches his brother walk away, observes his confident stride and swagger as he crosses to check the nets. He looks back at Finnick and gives him a subtle thumbs up and Finnick wishes they could stay on the ocean forever._

\--

They follow the path to the Victors Village, the sound of the waves becoming clearer with each step they take. Finnick feels his muscles relax, feels his breath come easier, as if his proximity to the ocean is reminding his body how to function. They come to the fence that marks the start of the Victors Village, its clean white stones and seashell-encrusted gate somehow unscathed from the bombs and bullets that destroyed the main square. 

Even from this distance, he knows the houses will all be dark, the village empty. If he wasn’t sure of it before, the meeting of the victors in the Capitol confirmed it. He and Annie are the only ones left. He wonders if Annie would have come back here alone if he had died, if she would have moved back into her old house, wandering the rooms by herself with just the sound of the waves and the cries of the gulls to keep her company. He quickly pushes the thought away.

They pass the first few houses in the Village that were never occupied in the time Finnick lived there. None of the victors wanted to be that close to town. They turn up the lane and Finnick feels a sharp pain in his chest. Mags’s house looks just as it always has, the plants on the porch still spilling over their pots, vines climbing up the walls. Her iron watering can sits on the top stair, her gardening gloves and boots on the step below, her rocking chair moving slightly with the breeze that drifts in off the ocean. Finnick moves closer and reaches out his hand to touch the railing of the porch, remembering the time he smashed his hand with a hammer when Mags opened the door too quickly and startled him while he made repairs on her porch.

“Oh,” Annie says softly, “look.” She points to the corner of the porch where the railing meets the roof. A nest of twigs, sea grass, and sand, emanating a faint sound of chirping. “Magpies,” she says with a faint smile. Finnick lets out his breath and smiles. “She’d love that. She’d be sitting out here talking to them.” 

“Do you want to go inside?” Annie asks.

“No,” Finnick shakes his head. “Not yet.”

Annie nods, understanding. They step away from the porch and continue down the street. Finnick tries not to picture the residents of each house they pass but he can’t help it. The blue house that belonged to Leif, who won a few years before Finnick and spent most of his time painting his house different colors, just to keep his hands busy. Across the way was Catalina, with her wife and two children, their toys still littered across their porch and front yard as if they’ll be back any moment, their carefree shouts echoing through the village. And then Kai, who rarely spoke but made the best fish cakes Finnick ever tasted. 

Annie stops abruptly. Finnick hears her breaths come in shallow gasps and she covers her ears gently, like she’s unsure of the movement.

“We can stop here,” Finnick says, “go back to town.” 

Annie looks at him and Finnick can see the effort it takes for her to focus, can see the water threatening to pull her under. He stands in front of her and cradles her face in his hands, close enough that he can feel her ragged breaths on his lips. “I’m here,” he whispers, “you’re safe.” He takes deep breaths and waits for her breath to mirror his. He searches her eyes. “Okay?” 

Annie blinks. “Okay,” she says, her voice louder than either of them expected. She lets out a startled laugh then turns to look at the remaining houses. “Okay,” she repeats, as if convincing herself. 

Finnick follows Annie’s lead as she walks carefully, like she can’t trust that her feet will hold her up. They come to the next house on the lane, identical in style to the others but with seashells neatly lined up on the railing of the porch, along the stairs, and over the doorway. Windchimes of all sizes and materials, from sea glass to metal to stone to strings of beads, hang from the roof and fill the air with melodic chimes as the ocean breeze passes by. Everything looks exactly as it should, except for the painted green door that hangs off its hinges.

Annie holds tightly to Finnick’s hand as she approaches the porch and takes the steps one at a time. Finnick can feel the cold sweat on her palms. She lets go of his hand and reaches out to touch the door, then falls to her knees with a cry, hands flying up to cover her ears as her breath comes fast and shallow. Finnick watches helplessly as enemies he can’t fight attack her mind and try to pull her away from him.

“Annie, I’m here,” he whispers gently, kneeling to the ground beside her and wrapping his body around hers. “You’re safe. They can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe.” He keeps repeating himself, feels tears falling from his eyes, and waits. Slowly, Annie comes back to him. She drops her hands to her lap and slumps against Finnick. “I can’t go in,” she whispers. “Let’s just go.”

Finnick nods, brushing her hair from her eyes. He holds out his hand to lift her to her feet and they turn their back on the porch. Finnick pauses. “Can you wait right here?” Annie nods and he runs back, gingerly closing the front door of the house as best as he can with its damaged hinges. Satisfied, he returns to Annie and takes her hand again. They cross to the last house on the lane, painted a clean white with dark blue shutters and the same dark blue paint on the door. Unlike the other houses on the street that have a sense of being lived in, this house looks like no one ever called it home. No boots lined up neatly on the stairs, no plants in the garden, no rocking chair, no windchimes. He never liked the house, always felt it was too empty for him. He was always more comfortable sitting in Mags’s kitchen as she cooked, and then once he and Annie found each other he hardly ever looked back at the house across the lane.

“Home sweet home,” Finnick says with a wink. Annie laughs, a genuine laugh that is Finnick’s favorite sound on earth. They take the steps up to the porch and find a neat pile of fishing nets, the only sign that this house ever belonged to Finnick. He tries the door and opens it easily - no need for locks when you and your neighbors are all experienced killers. 

In one swift movement, Finnick scoops Annie up in his arms and carries her across the threshold, the music of her laughter echoing through the house and filling it with a warmth no fire in the hearth could ever match. He sets her down gently and leans his forehead against hers. “Ready?”

She touches her lips to his in a soft kiss. “Ready.”

\--

_Finnick stands at the gate and looks up at the green door, debating if he should knock or just turn around and go back to his empty house across the lane. When he got off the train, his feet led him here automatically, feeling a pull to the house with the green door and the red-haired woman inside, but now that he’s here it feels wrong. He should go home, he thinks, wash off the Capitol and the scents of perfume and booze he always feels cling to his skin for days after he leaves. He should leave Annie alone._

_But Annie kissed him. She took his hand and she kissed him and for a brief, dazzling minute, he felt hope. In that moment he forgot about the groping hands, the wandering eyes, the people who took his company and his worth and gave nothing in return but worthless gifts and whispered secrets. She kissed him and he felt complete._

_But then the invitation came and the Capitol pulled him away again, just when he thought he found a safe harbor. He should go. Annie probably came to her senses, realized he was broken and dirty and no good for her. He’ll only embarrass himself if he stays here, tries to get back that brief moment under the stars. As he turns to leave the door opens and Annie steps out onto the porch, her bare feet barely making a sound as she stops when she sees him hovering by the gate. Finnick is struck by how beautiful she is, with her long red hair glowing in the sunlight and her green eyes that make him feel like he’s staring into the depths of the ocean, desperate to keep swimming to discover what secrets lie beneath the surface. He sees her register that he’s really there and a smile breaks out across her face. Annie runs down the steps and crosses the yard, stopping short a few feet from the gate. Finnick notices the distance, is reminded again of the vast ocean between them._

_“You’re back,” she says softly, reaching out as if to take his hand but stopping herself. Finnick nods._

_“I was just going,” he responds stiffly, jerking his hand to point over his shoulder at the unwelcoming facade of his own house._

_“Oh,” she replies, the smile falling from her face. Finnick curses himself, hates that he can’t just reach out to her and cross the distance between them, but he knows it will only hurt her more in the long run. He thinks of his time in the Capitol, of the hands all over his body, his face, his lips, and he shudders. She doesn’t want him. He turns to go._

_“Finnick,” she calls after him. He turns back and sees she’s moved closer, her hand on the gate as if to push it open. “If you’re going because you want to, I understand,” she says in a faltering voice, “but if you’re going because you think I want you to… I want you to stay.”_

_Finnick lets her words wash over her and wills himself to believe her, but how can he? Being close to him isn’t safe. It’ll only put her in danger, paint an even bigger target on her back._

_“Annie, you shouldn’t…” he starts, forcing the words out past unwilling lips. “You shouldn’t want me. You’re too good. I’ll only put you in danger.”_

_Annie steps closer with a determined look on her face. Steadily, she reaches out and takes his hand. He realizes he’s trembling._

_“Finnick, I’ve been in danger my entire life,” she says, staring into his eyes with such intensity that he can’t look away. “Why don’t you let me decide what I want?” She moves in closer and Finnick stands still, afraid any movement will shatter this moment and push her away for good. Dimly, he remembers he should want that, should want to push her away, to keep her safe, but looking into her ocean eyes all he can think is how badly he wants to get lost in them and never come up for air._

_“I want to be with you, Finnick Odair,” she says, her face so close to his that he can feel her breath on his lips. “Forget about everything else and tell me, what do you want?” Finnick pauses, letting the weight of her words settle in his mind, feeling his heart beat in time with her breaths on his lips. What does he want? He wants to be someone Annie Cresta deserves. Someone she can trust to keep her safe, to build a life with her. He looks into her eyes as she waits patiently for him to answer. He takes a deep breath and brings his lips to hers, letting himself get lost in the kiss, feeling the heaviness that had been weighing him down since he got to the Capitol disappear._

_After too little time, Annie pulls back and takes his face in her hands, her eyes lit up as she looks at him. “Do you want to come inside?” she asks shyly. Finnick presses another kiss to her lips then takes her hand._

_“I really do,” he says. She smiles and leads him through the gate and into the house with the green door, and Finnick thinks he’s found a place to call home._

\--

They don’t go back to Annie’s house. Instead, Finnick slowly brings everything from Annie’s house to his house across the lane and they work on making it into a home. Their favorite quilt that Mags made, Annie’s notebooks, his father’s old fiddle. One morning while Annie sleeps in, he painstakingly moves each seashell from the old porch to the new one, careful to place them in the exact same order. When Annie comes out and sees what he’s doing, she walks with him to the old house with a determined look in her eyes and retrieves all of her windchimes. She carries them back and stands on a chair to hang them on the new porch before Finnick gently pulls her down and takes over, placing a quick kiss on her growing belly and reaching up to hang the chimes under her careful direction. 

They fill the house with their favorite things and talk about nursery decorations and the best way to build a crib and what color they should paint the walls if they can even find paint now. They reconnect the phone in the unused study so they can make calls to their friends as they settle into their lives after the war. Finnick cooks, Annie writes, they walk to the beach and bring back shells to place on the windowsills. For the first time in their lives, there is nowhere they have to be and no one keeping them to a schedule. Some days, they bring a blanket to the beach and spend the entire day by the water, judging the time by the sun and the position of the tide. 

Finnick pays some of the men from town to help him bring his father’s boat up from the Victors Village dock so he can make repairs. The commercial docks may have been destroyed and most of the boats with them, but after Annie’s Games Finnick had taken to docking the boat in the Village. It helped him stay closer to her in case she needed him and made it easier for him to sail away from the prying eyes of District Four trying to get a glimpse of their victor-turned-Capitol-sex-symbol.

At night they wrap themselves up in each other, making up for all the time they’ve lost over the years. Finnick forgets about the Capitol and all the people who used his body, taking pieces of him and then casting him aside. With Annie he feels himself being put back together piece by piece, starts to recognize himself again. Sometimes it’s loud and passionate and Finnick finds himself grateful for their lack of neighbors. Other times it’s slow and tender and Annie kisses his scars with a featherlight touch and he’s so in love he feels his heart might explode in his chest.

The nightmares still come for both of them but now there is relief in waking. One night Finnick feels wet scaly bodies climbing over him, tearing at his skin and he jolts awake, gasping for air and crying out Annie’s name. She stirs and opens her eyes, bringing her hand to stroke Finnick’s hair. “Nightmare?” she asks. “Yeah,” he replies, settling back into bed and pulling her closer, breathing in the smell of her hair. “Better now,” he whispers, kissing the top of her head. She looks up at him and rests her hand on his cheek. They lie there for a while, content to watch each other in the moonlight. Annie’s gaze shifts to the window, then back to Finnick and she smiles. “Stargazing?”

Finnick insists on bringing a blanket even though Annie points out that her pregnancy has made her hotter than usual (at this, Finnick wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and she rolls her eyes, laughing out loud). He follows Annie down to the beach as she walks the familiar path to the dock, untouched from the war like the rest of the Victors Village. 

They sit at the end of the dock and let their feet hang over the black water. Annie shivers and Finnick wraps the blanket around their shoulders, raising his eyebrows as if to say “I told you so.” Annie laughs and nudges him with her shoulder. “Don’t be smug,” she chides. He kisses her cheek and pulls her close, angling them so she can rest her back against his chest. 

“I saw more people coming into town today,” Annie says after a few minutes of silence. “Not all locals. Someone said they’re building a hospital.”

“Wow,” remarks Finnick, “District lines really are blurring.” 

“Maybe we’ll get some neighbors.”

Finnick laughs and leans down to nip at her neck. “I hope not. We’d have to be more quiet.”

Annie laughs and turns her head to kiss him, then gasps.

“What is it? Are you okay?” Finnick asks, searching her face for any signs of pain, for the familiar look that tells him her mind is back in the arena. Instead he sees the opposite as her face lights up, a surprised smile growing. Wordlessly, she takes his hand and guides it over her stomach. He realizes he’s holding his breath when he feels it. The slightest flutter of movement. He almost thinks he imagined it and then he feels it again, a little stronger. He looks at Annie, eyes shining with tears. “Is that…” he trails off. She nods. 

“Keep talking,” she whispers, “they’re saying hi.”

Finnick uses his free hand to wipe his eyes and rests his head on Annie’s shoulder, gently caressing her stomach. “Hi little one,” he says, “don’t kick your mom too hard, okay? She’s working hard to keep you safe in there.” Another flutter, lighter than the others. “We love you so much little one. You’re already better than we ever dreamed.”

Annie kisses his cheek and smiles, looking down at their hands over her stomach. “We can’t wait to meet you, little fish,” she coos, “but stay in there a little bit longer, you hear me?”

Finnick laughs. “Listen to your mother, kid. She’s in charge.” He turns his head to meet Annie’s lips in a gentle kiss. “I never thought we’d get to have this,” he says quietly. Annie leans into him and closes her eyes.

“We’re doing it,” she says, “we’re being happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Google definitely thinks I'm pregnant because I keep searching for pregnancy timelines and baby names. Shoutout to the list of "Top 50 Nautical Baby Names" for helping me name the District Four characters.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> District Four may be home, but there are still ghosts everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to update earlier this week but then I just kept playing around with this chapter. It's the longest one yet so I hope you enjoy!

Finnick kisses Annie on his way out the door and promises to bring back a packet of sour candies from the newly repaired sweet shop in town. He feels the air on his skin and tilts his head back to feel the sunshine, welcoming the warmth that tells him summer is around the corner. He waves to Silas, a nurse from District Eight who came to help set up the new hospital and settled into one of the previously unoccupied houses at the base of the Victors Village.

No one has moved into the victors’ houses, and still no one from Four will come near the place, but the empty houses are starting to fill with people moving from the other districts. About a week after Silas moved in, Finnick enlisted his help in taking down the menacing iron sign that read “Victors Village,” leaving only the stone fence and seashell gate in its place. It was a symbolic gesture, but Finnick feels lighter every time he walks through the gate.

He gets to the square and is struck again by how quickly things have changed in just the few months they’ve been back. The debris from the war has all been cleaned up, new shops have opened, and a steady flow of people move about the square, conducting business and stopping to make conversation. It’s a far cry from seeing Peacekeepers on every corner, people walking with their eyes on the ground, afraid to even look at someone else for fear of being accused of rebel activity. He smiles and heads for the docks, one of the first parts of the town to be fully restored to the condition they were in before the war.

He could continue to dock his father’s boat closer to the village, but now he likes walking through town to reach the docks. It gives him something to do, helps him to be around people. He’s still adjusting to seeing people other than Annie, still has trouble not assuming people want to use him for their own agendas. When he talked to Johanna on the phone last week, she couldn’t understand why he wanted to be around other people at all. “We’ve been around people constantly our entire lives,” her voice cracked through the receiver, “I’ll probably bite the next person who looks at me.” He had laughed, telling her he hoped the people of District Seven knew Johanna well enough to give her space.

As he reaches his father’s boat, he feels a familiar lump in his throat when he takes in the sturdy wooden hull and knotted sails. Even after all this time, he still expects to see his father moving around the deck with confidence, preparing for a day’s work. “Calm waters today,” says a voice behind him. Finnick turns to see Celeste, a fisherwoman in her sixties with the strength and agility of someone half her age. She’s known Finnick since he was a baby and he finds comfort in hearing her prepare for the day of fishing, telling him what mood the ocean is in that day. “She’s a little tired,” she tells him, “might not get many bites but it’ll be smooth sailing.” She tosses him a small wrapped package. “For the lovely lady.” She winks and then goes back to her boat.

Finnick goes through the steady routine of inspecting the rigging and preparing the sails. He’s been sailing this boat practically since he could walk and is sure he could do it in his sleep, but he still takes the time to get ready with the careful precision his father taught him. He points the bow into the wind, hoists the sails, and lets the wind carry him out into the ocean, feeling his hair blow in the breeze.

Once he gets to a good spot, he drops his net and sits back, waiting patiently for the fish to come to him. He peeks into the package Celeste gave him and sees a small jar of her homemade fish paste, which he knows Annie will eat with a spoon as soon as he gets home. Finnick chuckles and sits back, looking out over the horizon and breathing in the ocean air. He feels another pang in his chest as he looks to the stern, almost expecting to see his father perched on a crate, repairing a net with fast, sure fingers and humming one of his many shanties. The Victors Village isn’t the only place in town that’s filled with ghosts.

\--

_Finnick waves to the crowd from the stairs of the Justice Building, his smile sparkling like the crown perched on his golden curls. The people of District Four cheer for their victor, for the prosperity he will bring to their district for the next year. Finnick feels a hand at his elbow pulling him back through the doors of the Justice Building and he gives one last wink and wave to the crowd as the doors slam shut._

_Finnick lets his smile fall and his shoulders slump as soon as the crowd is out of sight. “Well done, Mr. Odair,” his escort, Aristide, gushes in his affected Capitol accent. “They just love you!”_

_“Yeah,” Finnick sighs, rubbing a hand across his eyes._

_“He’s not that great,” a familiar voice rings out behind him and Finnick turns, a genuine smile blooming on his face as he rushes to embrace his brother. “Welcome home Finn,” Adrian whispers, slapping Finnick’s back._

_“Since this is your home district and the end of the tour, I will trust you to use the afternoon wisely and return for the banquet this evening,” Aristide informs him. “Seven o’clock sharp, Mr. Odair.”_

_“Yes, sir,” Adrian says with a bow that Aristide clearly thinks is genuine. Finnick punches his brother’s arm and nods to his escort. “Yes, of course, seven o’clock. Thanks.” Aristide turns on his heel and retreats into the Justice Building and Finnick breathes freely for the first time in a month._

_He looks to his brother and tries to read his expression. “How is he?” Finnick asks._

_“Come on,” Adrian answers, “he’s waiting for you.”_

_Finnick follows Adrian outside, where the crowd has dissipated to go back to their business. They walk quickly through the square and Finnick tries to shrink himself to avoid the glances that come his way, the whispers that follow when he turns his head. Finnick and Adrian turn onto the stone path that leads to the Odairs’ cottage on the outskirts of town._

_“He’s still pretty alert,” Adrian fills him in as they walk, “he just gets tired quickly. He had plenty to say about your outfits when we watched you on television.”_

_They reach the front gate of their cottage and Adrian puts a hand out to stop Finnick from opening the gate. “He won’t say it, but he’s in a lot of pain,” he says softly, eyes searching Finnick’s face. “Helene says he doesn’t have a lot of time.”_

_Finnick nods, then pushes the gate open and moves through the garden to their front door. As he crosses the threshold he feels himself transform from the Capitol’s golden boy, their shining victor, to the young boy from District Four who would rather run in the sand and follow his father around a boat than do anything else._

_“Dad?” Finnick calls tentatively, stepping into the main room where his father dozes in his armchair. Finnick settles into the chair next to him and takes his hand, suddenly feeling very small. In sleep, his father looks relaxed, his tan skin smooth and his chest rising in an even rhythm. Finnick watches him sleep and wonders what it felt like for his father to watch his youngest son paraded around in gaudy outfits, waving and winking at adoring crowds. Is he proud? Embarrassed? Does he look at his son differently, knowing that he has blood on his hands?_

_“That purple thing they put you in for District Seven was a monstrosity,” Caspian’s voice, clear and quiet, pulls Finnick from his musings._

_Finnick laughs. “I’ll make sure to pass on your note,” he says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Hi, Dad.”_

_“Welcome home, son.” Caspian’s eyes search Finnick’s face, and Finnick feels like he’s five years old. “How are you?” Finnick doesn’t know what to say. His emotions have been so tangled since Aristide read his name from that slip of paper that he’s too afraid to try and sort them out, not sure he wants to know how he really feels about the events of the last few months._

_“I’m glad to be home,” Finnick answers truthfully. His father coughs, and Finnick suppresses a shudder at the hollow rattling sound in his father’s chest._

_“We’ve missed you, boy. I need someone to take the boat out. Your brother has me on house arrest,” he raises his voice so Adrian, lurking in the kitchen, can hear him, “and he won’t take her on his own.”_

_“We’ll go out tomorrow,” Adrian says, exasperated, as he comes into the room and throws himself down on the worn couch. “But Finnick might break a nail.”_

_Finnick flashes one of his (admittedly well-manicured) fingernails at his brother, earning himself a gentle smack on the back of his head from his father. It’s so normal, the three of them in their sitting room talking about fishing and making fun of each other, that Finnick feels himself starting to cry. He forces back the tears and throws himself into the conversation, listening to his father’s feedback on all of his Victory Tour outfits and telling them about life in the other districts._

_For the next few months, Finnick tries to relax back into his life before the Games. He spends every waking minute with his father and brother, playing cards, telling stories, and taking the boat out with Adrian. They don’t need to fish anymore, now that Finnick has plenty of money to keep them comfortable, but their father insists. “She’ll be lonely,” he says about the boat. Finnick catches himself wondering if his father just wants him out of the house because he can’t stand to look at his youngest son, the murderer. He tells himself that’s not true, tells himself his father knows being on the water is the best way to clear his head, but the thought lingers._

_When he has the energy, Caspian breaks out his old fiddle and tries to teach Adrian and Finnick to play. Finnick makes a mess of it, almost breaking the delicate strings when he tries, but Adrian makes it look effortless. The cottage fills with music and Finnick almost feels normal again, like the carefree boy he was before his name was called and everything changed in the blink of an eye._

_Normal doesn’t last. At night, he is always back in the arena, fighting off nightmares where he watches himself stab tribute after tribute until the world is flooded with blood. Other nights, he dreams of disembodied hands grabbing him, pushing him, groping every inch of his body. More often than not, he wakes up screaming into his pillow. If his father and brother notice, they don’t say anything._

_He hovers over his father, making sure he gets enough rest and takes the herbal remedies Helene, the town healer, sends over. On good days, Caspian waves him away and insists he can get his own tea, thank you, but on bad days he sits quietly and lets Finnick hold the cup to his lips, taking labored sips and coughing after each one._

_“Don’t you have your own house to move into?” his father asks one day, exasperated when Finnick insists on feeding him pieces of toast. Finnick pauses. “I sort of forgot about that,” he admits. “I like it better here. Besides, I heard it’s in a rough neighborhood,” he tries to joke, but he can’t hide the shakiness in his voice._

_His father looks at him with his piercing green eyes. “I know I can’t begin to understand what you went through in that arena. It was bad enough for us to watch it, it must have been a hundred times worse to live it.”_

_Finnick sits in silence. This is the first time any of them have intentionally brought up the Games. They’ve joked about the Tour, and his outfits, and the bizarre habits of the Capitol, but they’ve never discussed the arena._

_“Finnick, I need you to know that I don’t think differently of you because of what happened. Anything you did… I know you did it so you could come home. That’s all that matters to me. All I need from either of you boys is for you to come home safe.” He watches Finnick carefully, making sure his words get through to him._

_Finnick lets his father’s words wash over him. The events of the last few months have made him unable to recognize himself, unable to blend Finnick Odair the golden boy, the youngest victor ever, with Finnick Odair from District Four, who once ran home and cried to his father because he saw a crab pinch an arm off a starfish. He’s been so afraid that the District Four Finnick his father knows died in the arena. When he looks in his father’s eyes, Finnick wonders if Caspian is watching his son trap and spear other children like fish in the shallows. He wonders if his father knows how easy it was for Finnick to do it, and how much that scares him now. How could his father still be proud of him, when he can barely live with himself?_

_Caspian reaches over and pats Finnick’s hand. “I know I can’t understand, but there are people who have been through it. I can’t make you move, and I do love having you home, but just think about it. It might be good for you to be around people who get it.” His father winks at him, “and I have it on good authority that Mags makes the best pie in District Four.”_

_Finnick smiles, appreciating his father’s ability to say the exact right thing. He may not be ready to move to the Victors Village yet, especially not with his father getting sicker, but he can start with Mags._

_Finnick tries to remain optimistic about Caspian’s health, but the bad days are starting to outnumber the good. It’s harder for his father to sit up on his own and nearly impossible for him to keep food down. Finnick and Adrian hover over him, never leaving him alone, and try their best to keep him comfortable. They stop taking the boat out and stay as close to the cottage as they can._

_A month before the reaping is set to take place for the upcoming Games, Finnick is called to the Capitol. He sits with his father until the very last minute before he needs to catch his train. “I’ll see you next week, Dad,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to his father’s forehead. His father stirs, reaching up to touch Finnick’s cheek. “Come home safe,” Caspian croaks out before a coughing fit takes over. When the cough runs its course, Finnick holds a glass of water to his lips and helps him drink. “I love you,” Finnick says softly._

_He hesitates in the doorway before leaving. “I could not go,” he offers, but Adrian shakes his head._

_“I know I’ve never been in your shoes,” he says, “but I know enough to know you don’t decline a personal invitation from the President.”_

_Finnick paces the length of the train for the entire journey to the Capitol. He is shown to a hotel room the size of his family’s entire cottage, where he tosses and turns through the night, visions of his father’s pale face joining the dying tributes in his nightmares._

_Snow instructs him to attend a series of parties with people he identifies as important sponsors. He is to play the role of the handsome, charming young victor who loves the attention and who can make anyone feel special with just one conversation. Finnick hates the way they look at him, like he’s a piece of meat or an exotic pet brought in for their amusement. More than once, someone asks him when his birthday is and how old he’ll be. One woman winks at him and says she’s counting down the days. He tries not to think about what she means._

_When he returns to District Four a week later, Adrian meets him at the train station, looking older than Finnick has ever seen him. Finnick searches his face, unable to voice the question that forms on his lips. Adrian shakes his head._

_Finnick takes off running from the train station, sprinting through the town square and down to the water. He hears his brother’s footsteps behind him, knows Adrian could easily catch up if he wanted to, and realizes his brother is following his lead. He reaches the water’s edge and screams, sending all of his frustration and anger and confusion and sadness into the horizon. He screams until his throat is dry, then collapses in the sand, silent sobs coursing through his body. He senses his brother’s presence and looks up as Adrian sits next to him, blinking away tears. Adrian doesn’t speak, just puts his arm around him and Finnick lets his head fall onto Adrian’s shoulder as he closes his eyes. They sit in silence until the sun goes down._

\--

As Finnick docks his boat and unloads his catch for the day, he sees a flash of blonde hair pulled back in a familiar braided hairstyle.

“Clara?” he calls out, running after the woman. She turns, and he is slammed with a memory of lying in a hospital bed, weakened and half out of his mind, working his hands raw as he tied and untied a rope to try and stop his thoughts from imagining all the ways the Capitol was torturing Annie because of him. Katniss’s mother closes the distance between him and pulls him into a tight embrace.

“Finnick!” she exclaims, “it’s so good to see you.” 

“What are you doing here?” he asks. The last time he saw her, she was in the Capitol, waiting to find out what would happen to Katniss after she shot President Coin. He assumed she would have found her way back to District Twelve by now.

“I’ve been asked to help with the new hospital. Just finished my shift actually,” she tilts her head. “How is Annie?”

“Great,” Finnick smiles, “probably eagerly awaiting a delivery of sour candies that her husband promised her this morning.”

Clara chuckles. “Well tell her I’d love to see her, if she’s open to visitors.” 

“Why don’t you come now?” he suggests. “Unless you’re busy. Sorry. I don’t mean to presume.”

“I’d love to,” she responds, taking his arm. “We should get those candies first though.”

He makes his rounds through town to drop off his extra fish to some of the locals who haven’t been able to repair their boats after the bombing and stops at the sweet shop to get Annie’s candy. The shop owner, a kindly older woman who reminds him of Mags, has the package ready when she sees him coming. “Still on the sour craving, huh?” she laughs, shaking her head. “Watch out, some day soon she’ll be throwing these at your head demanding something sweet.”

“And I’ll be back on your doorstep when that happens,” Finnick promises with a wink, paying for the candy and leading Clara back into the square, toward the village. A few people say hello to him as they pass, tell him to give their best to Annie. Clara comments on this when they leave the square.

“It’s pretty funny,” he admits, “people here never used to talk to us. They’d talk about us plenty, but never to us. All those years they’ve been missing out on my winning personality.” He flashes her a grin and Clara laughs.

“Their loss, definitely,” she assures him. 

“I think people are excited about the baby,” he continues, “new life after war and all.”

Clara nods. “I think we all need something to look forward to.”

When they reach the house, Finnick asks Clara if she minds waiting outside. “I just want to make sure she’s… Well, you know,” he explains. Annie has been doing well lately, but he still doesn’t want to surprise her with an unexpected guest. Clara sits on the front step as Finnick goes inside, calling out for Annie. 

He finds her at the kitchen table, sorting seashells with a look of deep concentration on her face. He gently places the candy and Celeste’s gift on the counter and leans in to kiss Annie’s temple, then presses a kiss to her belly.

“Darling, I don’t want to disturb you but I ran into someone today who I thought you’d like to see,” he murmurs.

“Oh?” she asks, poking her tongue out as she examines a shell.

“Clara,” he says, “she arrived a few days ago to help with the hospital.”

“Oh!” Annie exclaims, turning to face him and dropping the shell onto the table. “Where is she staying?”

“Right now, on our front porch,” Finnick tilts his head to the front door and laughs as Annie dashes to the door, yanks it open, and embraces Mrs. Everdeen in one fluid movement. He follows and holds the door open, gesturing for them both to come inside.

In a flutter of laughter and tears, Finnick listens to the two women catching up as Annie informs Clara of the new way of life in District Four and Clara recounts the changes she’s seen in the Capitol and some of the other districts. He hears a strain in her voice as she explains that Katniss is back in District Twelve with Haymitch, that she expects Peeta will join them when he’s cleared to return. Finnick pours them all tea and starts to cook dinner as they discuss the progress on the hospital. 

The conversation turns to Annie’s pregnancy, and Finnick smiles as he listens to his wife gush about feeling the baby move and ask Clara’s advice for remedies to help her sleep. It’s nice, he thinks, having someone else in their little bubble. Someone who Annie can let her guard down around and be fully comfortable with. He again finds himself grateful for the steadiness and patience that Annie found in Clara back in District Thirteen. He knows the two of them leaned on each other when Finnick and Katniss went to the Capitol, and then when Prim followed. Blinking away tears, Finnick places fresh fish chowder and seaweed bread on the table and the three of them eat and talk and laugh and Finnick is struck by how normal it feels.

When their meal is over, Finnick offers to walk Clara back into town, and she takes his arm again as they approach the gate.

“You both seem… Lighter,” she observes.

“It was hard at first,” he admits, “we came back here because we have more good memories here than anywhere else, but the bad ones were a bit stronger.”

“Good thing you’re making new ones,” Clara says.

“Good thing,” Finnick agrees. “How are you?” he asks, pausing to observe her expression.

Clara shrugs. “There are some days I think I’ll never breathe properly again. I see her everywhere. It’s better when I work because I know she would want me to be here, helping.” She hesitates. “Can I ask you something? About Annie?”

“You can ask,” Finnick answers carefully.

“It’s just… She mentioned having a niece. Which also implies a sibling. I didn’t want to pry but I wondered if- well, you know.”

“If they’re alive,” Finnick finishes matter-of-factly. She nods. “We don’t know,” he answers after a pause. “The last I saw them was on reaping day. I got taken away before I could say goodbye but I know they stayed with Annie during the Games. She, uh, she doesn’t remember much about the Games. But she remembers watching the jabberjay attack with them. They were all watching together, heard themselves screaming on television.” He shudders at the memory, sounds of screams from Annie, Fiona, Molly, and, he now realizes, Clara, Prim, and Gale, filling his ears. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. “Peacekeepers came for Annie soon after that. She doesn’t know what happened to them.” 

Clara nods, her mouth a tight line. “It’s not really over, is it?”

“No,” Finnick shakes his head, “I don’t know that it ever will be.”

\--

Annie is already in bed when he gets home, writing in one of her notebooks. She smiles up at him when he comes in and for a moment he’s caught breathless, still unable to believe that he gets to come home to Annie and see her smile and watch her twirl the ends of her red hair around her fingers as she concentrates on her writing. 

He changes into his pajamas and crawls into bed next to her, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek before resting his head on the pillow and moving a hand to her stomach, content to just drink in her company and watch her write.

Annie pauses and glances down at him, then back to her notebook with a sly smile on her face. “You’re staring,” she says with a laugh.

“You’re pretty,” Finnick answers simply. He watches her bite her lip and shake her head, pointedly ignoring him to finish writing. She takes her time closing the notebook and setting it down on the nightstand, carefully placing her pen next to it before lying down to face Finnick, bringing her hand to his cheek.

“Now who’s staring?” he asks softly, turning his head to press a kiss to her palm.

“You’re pretty,” she giggles. 

Finnick has a flash of loud voices and pressing hands, strange faces calling him pretty, beautiful, gorgeous, touching him everywhere, pushing and pulling at his skin until he wants to scream. The feeling of Annie’s hand on his cheek brings him back and he leans into her touch, focuses on the steadiness of her gaze. The voices, the faceless hands pulling at him, those aren’t real. Annie is real, and she’s here, and she’s safe. 

“Finnick?” she questions, a look of concern crossing her face. He doesn’t know how she does it, but she can always tell when his mind is somewhere else, back in the arena or the Capitol or the war. It helps, he thinks, that she can tell when he’s losing his grip and needs something to ground him, to remind him where he is.

“I’m okay,” he says quietly. She still looks concerned and he smiles lightly, reaching out to brush his fingers through her hair. “Really,” he says, “I’m here.” Annie searches his face for a moment and nods, relaxing into his touch.

“I’m glad you ran into Clara,” she says, smiling. “It’s nice to have someone around who’s done his before.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“You know,” she explains, “babies. Being a mom. My mom wasn’t exactly a role model for me on how to do this right.”

Finnick takes her hand and smiles, “you’re going to be an amazing mom. That kid doesn’t know how lucky they are.”

Annie glances away from Finnick, a blush glowing on her cheeks. He thinks she’s the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

“You’ll be a good dad,” she whispers, “you can teach them to sail and I’ll show them the best tide pools for finding starfish.”

Now it’s Finnick’s turn to blush. She pokes at his cheek teasingly and he chuckles.

“That's one of my earliest memories of my dad,” he says, stilling. “Him teaching me about sailing. I was sitting on the boat with him - he made me wear a life vest even though we were docked. He was just moving around, inspecting everything, telling me what he was looking at and what little repairs he needed to make. I watched him so many times since then that most of the memories blend together but I remember that one.”

Annie doesn’t say anything, just takes his hand and lets him think about his father, considering his next words. “I feel closer to him now than I have since he…” Finnick pauses, swallows around the lump in his throat. “Since he died. Something about being on the water, thinking about our baby... I don’t see him here, or in town, but he’s always on the water with me.” He looks at Annie through a blur of tears. “I wonder what he’d think of me now.”

Annie shifts closer to gently wipe the tears spilling onto Finnick’s cheeks. “He’d be so proud,” she whispers earnestly. Finnick nods, picturing his father’s face, imagining him in this house, laughing with Annie, playing his fiddle while she pulls Finnick into a dance. He sees his father holding his grandson, telling him stories about sailing into storms and legends about monstrous sea creatures. 

“I miss him,” Finnick admits softly. 

“I know,” she replies, stroking his cheek. Finnick focuses his gaze on her and imagines her with their baby, holding their hands in the ocean to keep them from toppling over in the waves, singing soft lullabies as she rocks them to sleep. He thinks about what his father said, that all he ever wanted for Finnick was for him to come home safe and he wishes he could tell him that he did, that he's safe and he's making a home where his child will always be safe. He feels like he's starting to understand his father better, understand a little more what it must have meant for him to see Finnick sent into the Games, to see him fight for his life in the arena, wanting him to come home but knowing he wouldn't be the same when he did.

He looks at Annie and sees a woman who is fiercely protective of the ones she loves and is amazed that he is one of those lucky people. He sees a woman who believes in him, who sees the good in him and reminds him it’s there when he can’t find it himself. He knows she will love their child so deeply, so fiercely that they will know they can take on anything with her lifting them up, and he knows because that’s what she does for him, since that first night under the stars when she took his hand and gave him a new life.

“I love you,” he breathes, not sure he could ever say it enough to express how much he means it.

“I love you too,” she answers, leaning in to kiss him. He returns the kiss, holding her close and feeling an undeniable hope for their future, for this precious family they’re building together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is canon that Katniss's mother goes to District Four to help with the hospital, so I wanted to have her reconnect with Finnick and Annie. Also, I don't know anything about sailing so any sailing related things were pulled from Google and the WikiHow "How to Sail a Boat" article.
> 
> I have a few chapters coming up with longer flashbacks like this one. For ease of reading, is it okay to read when the text is in italics, or should I differentiate another way?
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for this chapter: Hunger Games-typical violence.

“I still think it’s the perfect name,” Finnick insists.

“You don’t see how it might be a little over the top?” Annie asks lightly.

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

She scoffs. “You don’t think naming our son Triton would give him a big head?”

“Well, he’s my kid and I’m the most humble person I know, so I don’t see a problem.” 

Annie laughs, the music of her laughter joining the tinkling of the windchimes that drift over their head as they relax on the porch swing Finnick built, watching the sun sink lower in the sky. “What if it’s a girl?” she challenges as she stretches to put her feet in Finnick’s lap. 

He starts massaging her feet as he contemplates, lips pursed in concentration. “Tritona,” he answers with a wink as Annie laughs again.

She closes her eyes and leans back into the swing as the golden rays of the sun illuminate her face and set her red hair ablaze. She rests her hands on her growing belly and Finnick wants to freeze this moment forever, sure that this is one of those perfect moments where they both feel so content, so happy, and so safe that nothing could ever change that.

Annie opens her eyes and looks at Finnick, lips curling into a soft smile as if she can read his thoughts. Her eyes shift down to her stomach and she laughs. “Someone’s awake,” she says, rubbing a spot on her stomach where Finnick assumes the baby just kicked her.

“They like my name ideas,” Finnick jokes. 

Annie rolls her eyes, then looks down at her belly. “Your daddy has bad ideas, little fish,” she coos, “but we still love him, right?”

Finnick leans over to her bump and whispers conspiratorially, “kick once if you like my idea for your name.” He puts his hand on her stomach as if waiting for a response and instead feels Annie shaking with suppressed laughter. “Traitor,” he whispers, before pressing a kiss to her stomach and sitting up straight. Annie giggles and shifts closer to Finnick so she can pull him into a kiss. “I love you,” she breathes, pressing their foreheads together. “I love you too,” he whispers, bringing his lips back to hers as the sun dips below the horizon.

\--

_Finnick leans close to the monitor and watches Niko creep through the woods in search of fresh water. The initial bloodbath of the sixty-ninth Hunger Games is well underway and he is settled in for a long day. He glances behind him and sees Haymitch Abernathy, District Twelve, uncorking a bottle and taking a long swig. One of his tributes is already dead and the other badly wounded. Haymitch catches Finnick’s eye and raises his bottle with a sarcastic smile before downing another sip._

_Finnick turns back to his monitor and tracks Niko’s movement, compares his path with the map available to mentors that shows them where resources - and threats - are located in the arena. Finnick groans in frustration. Niko was just feet from fresh water when he changed course at the last second. The kid showed a lot of promise with weapons, but paid no attention to Finnick’s repeated advice to brush up on his survival skills, including, Finnick thinks pointedly, how to notice when there is a stream of fresh water right under your nose._

_Looking around the room, Finnick takes stock of his fellow victors. Now on his fourth consecutive year as a mentor, he’s familiar with many of them, especially those like Haymitch who are from districts with just one or two living victors. Other districts, like One and Two, have sent different mentors each year._

_He nods at Beetee, the man from District Three who sits to his left, frowning over his monitor. “Damn it!” cries a voice behind him, and Finnick turns to see Cecelia from District Eight slam her hand on her monitor as the cannon sounds to mark her tribute’s death. She stands, revealing a round belly, and moves to sit with the other mentors whose tributes have already lost their lives._

_As always, Finnick is acutely aware of being the youngest in the room. At least this year he’s older than his tribute._

_At the front of the room, Gloss and Cashmere, siblings from District One, relax by their monitors. The bloodbath now over, the tributes from Districts One and Two are taking their time searching the Cornucopia for anything useful. Finnick’s eyes linger on Gloss and Cashmere. Tan skin, blond hair, blue eyes, perfectly angled features - there’s no denying their beauty. He tries to recall what he saw of their Victory Tours on TV - did the citizens of the Capitol clamor over them the way they do Finnick? Did they look out into the crowd and see the same hunger he did, the crowd's desire to get closer to them by any means?_

_Gloss seems to sense Finnick’s eyes on him and he glances back, holding eye contact with Finnick for a moment before Finnick turns back to his monitor. How many of them has Snow promised to the highest bidder?_

_“Mr. Odair,” Finnick jumps as a man in a white suit materializes at his side. “If you could please follow me.”_

_Confused, Finnick glances at Catalina, his fellow mentor from District Four, who shrugs. “Of course,” he replies smoothly, taking care to button his jacket as he stands. He follows the man out of the room, putting a swagger in his step to hide his uncertainty. The man leads him through the hallways of the Tribute Center, into the elevator, and down deep underground, so far that Finnick feels his chest tightening as he imagines the layers of stone that stand between him and the sun._

_The elevator doors open and the man gestures for Finnick to step into a room with white marble walls and lush red carpeting. A screen in the middle of the room broadcasts the Games, still focused on the tributes from One and Two taking stock at the cornucopia. He hears the elevator doors close behind him and turns to see he is alone in the room. There are leather couches and chairs arranged around the screen but Finnick opts to remain standing, unable to shake the feeling that he's being watched._

_The broadcast of the Games flickers, and Finnick lets out a hiss as President Snow's face fills the screen. Finnick smells the faint aroma of roses and thinks the carpet is starting to look a lot like blood._

_“Hello Finnick,” Snow smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Finnick stands rooted to the ground and forces his lungs to breathe._

_“I hope you don’t mind being pulled away from your duties. This will only take a moment,” Snow purrs. Finnick nods curtly, not trusting himself to speak._

_“It has come to my attention that you neglected to make an appearance at dear Leonora’s dinner party last week." Finnick’s heart drops. In a moment of defiance, he'd ignored the invitation, choosing to stay home with Adrian instead of paying another visit to the Capitol. "She was so eager for your company and called me simply distraught when you did not attend,” he says with a lightness in his voice that Finnick knows is forced. “Now, one missed dinner I can understand. Things happen, I know.” Snow pauses, as if waiting for Finnick to apologize, then leans closer to the camera and bores his black eyes into Finnick’s with such intensity that Finnick forgets he’s not actually in the room. “But add this to the fact that you ignored my summons last month until I had to send someone all the way out to your District to retrieve you… I am not happy, Finnick.”_

_Finnick feels his hands begin to shake and clasps them behind his back. “I told you,” he says in a hollow voice, “I’m done.” He feels the walls closing in, feels rough hands all over him, wet tongues in his mouth, bodies pressed against his, drugs and booze making everything too loud, too bright. He breaks into a cold sweat and hears his breath become ragged as he forces himself to meet the President’s gaze through the screen._

_“How nice, that you think you have a choice,” Snow mocks. He leans closer to the camera. “I am not asking. And since you insist on acting like an irresponsible child, you must face the consequences.” The camera shifts and Finnick stumbles forward, grasping at the back of a chair to steady himself._

_Where Snow’s face was just seconds before, Finnick is now looking at his brother, slumped on the ground with his arms in shackles. Finnick’s eyes follow the steady flow of blood dripping from the gash in Adrian’s forehead._

_“No!” Finnick’s voice rings out in a strangled cry. He hears Snow’s breathless laughter, so close to Finnick's ear that he whips around, half expecting to see the President’s snakelike eyes boring into his. He looks back to the screen and sees a Peacekeeper walking toward Adrian, gun raised._

_“Stop!” Finnick cries, “Adrian! ADRIAN!”_

_He sees his brother stir, searching for his voice. Adrian looks at the camera and Finnick sees the flicker of recognition in his dazed eyes._

_“Finnick,” Adrian chokes out, “it’s okay.” He coughs, blood spattering on the floor in front of him._

_“No, no, no, no,” Finnick repeats, moving closer to the screen to examine his brother. He reaches out a hand as if to pull him through the screen to safety but touches only air. “Adrian,” he gasps._

_“You see Finnick,” Snow’s voice returns, louder and more menacing than before. “This is your fault.” His words pierce Finnick’s heart and his blood turns to ice while the chorus inside his head starts up. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault._

_“Please,” Finnick begs, “I’m sorry. I’ll do anything. Please don’t hurt him, please don’t hurt him, please-” He hears the gunshot and the screen cuts to black._

_Over the ringing in his ears, Finnick hears a sound like an injured animal and looks around for the source so he can put the creature out of its misery. He catches his reflection in the elevator doors and realizes the sound is coming from him. It dimly occurs to him that he should stop, that someone will hear, someone will come to investigate, but he can’t seem to gain control of himself._

_He squeezes his eyes shut and sees Adrian, bloody and shackled, calling out his name. This is what he gets for thinking he could have a say in his own life. He had been so tired, so sick of the Capitol. He had wanted to stay home, didn’t want to put on his mask for another string of parties, another week of people taking him apart at the seams. And now his brother is dead because of him. Because of his selfish choice to test the boundaries of Snow’s patience, to see what he could get away with. The television screen flicks back to life and Finnick flinches, expecting to see his brother’s lifeless body, but the image has been replaced with Caesar Flickerman reviewing the death toll from the bloodbath. Finnick gets the message, loud and clear. Back to the Games. Back to life as a victor, the golden boy, here to please and to do as he’s told._

_As he reaches this conclusion, the elevator doors open. He steps inside the elevator and shoves his fist in his mouth to stop the strangled sounds coming from his throat. The elevator rises, dinging as it passes each floor. Ding. He sees Adrian, wind blowing through his hair as he steers their father’s boat across the sparkling water and looks back to flash Finnick a grin. Ding. Adrian, slumped on the floor with dark red blood pooling around him. Ding. Finnick gags over the stench of blood that fills his nostrils and vomits in the corner of the elevator. Ding. He wipes his mouth, shuddering. Ding. He knows he has to pull himself together, fast. Ding. He wills the tears to stop flowing. Ding. He clenches his fists to stop his hands from shaking. Ding. He straightens his suit. Ding. He fixes his hair. Ding. He smooths his features. Ding. He takes a deep breath. Ding. He’s back on the mentors’ level. The door opens. He steps off the elevator, a mischievous smile in place on his lips and a swagger in his step. He crosses to his station, nods to Catalina, and takes his seat just in time to watch a District One tribute drive a spear into Niko’s heart._

\--

Finnick wakes, gasping for air, the smell of blood and roses fading to the smell of the sea and the fresh cut flowers Annie placed on their dresser that morning. The moon casts just enough light through the window for Finnick to make out the shadowy outlines of the curtains, the dresser, the bed, the chair with Mags’s old quilt folded neatly across the arm. His breathing slows as he reassures himself that he’s home. Snow can’t get to him, there are no Games to worry about. Sensing eyes on him, Finnick shifts to see Annie watching him carefully.

“Sorry, love,” he whispers, rolling onto his side and reaching out to brush her hair out of her eyes. “I didn’t mean to wake you.’

“You didn’t,” she replies, hand coming to her stomach. “This one is getting their laps in.”

Finnick smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“It was your brother, wasn’t it?” Annie says carefully, “your dream.”

Finnick runs a hand over his eyes, squinting them shut. He nods. 

Annie bites her lip. “It’s been a while since you had one about him.”

Finnick realizes she’s right. Somewhere between going to war and Snow’s death and rebuilding their life in District Four, Adrian hasn’t starred as prominently in his dreams. For a moment, he feels a flash of guilt, like this means he’s on his way to forgetting his brother and putting him out of his mind.

“I’m sorry I never got to meet him,” Annie says softly, still watching Finnick closely.

A small smile crosses his face. “You wouldn’t have looked at me twice if you had,” he says with a small chuckle.

Annie laughs. “Do you want to talk about him?”

Finnick brings his hand to meet Annie’s where it rests on her stomach and laces their fingers together. They’ve talked about their families before, of course, but something about being months away from welcoming their own child changes things. His heart aches when he thinks about his child never knowing their uncle. He speaks as much to the life growing inside Annie as he does to her. 

“He wasn’t afraid of anything,” he starts hesitantly. “Once when I was younger, he and I went fishing. Out of nowhere, this squall came up and started knocking us around. I was terrified, thought we were going to capsize for sure. But Adrian just took control, kept us steady, and got us back to shore just as the storm cleared. I was shaking, couldn’t hold my fingers steady to tie up the sails, and he just guided me through it. He said he wouldn’t have let me sink.”

Annie smiles softly and brings her hand up to brush through his hair.

“When we said goodbye before the Games,” Finnick’s throat tightens and he swallows thickly, tears blurring his vision, “that was the only time I ever saw him scared. It was just for a second, but I saw it in his eyes. I never asked him about it. Never asked if he was afraid I’d lose or afraid I’d win.” Annie continues running her hand through his hair and Finnick breathes in time with her movements. “I thought of him, when Katniss volunteered for Prim. Wondered if he would have done the same for me if he’d been a year younger. Wondered if I would have let him go in my place.” Finnick looks at Annie and sees her face wet with silent tears. 

“He’d be really proud of you, Finnick,” she whispers, moving closer to kiss the tears starting to fall on his cheeks. He takes her chin in his hand and pulls her lips to meet his, kissing her softly. She curls closer to him, resting her head on his chest.

“He would have loved you,” Finnick murmurs, and he feels Annie smile. “I want to talk about him more. About all of them,” he says, thinking of all the people they’ve loved and lost. 

Annie nods. “Me too,” she says quietly.

“I want our baby to know how loved they are, even if they can’t see the people who love them.” 

“They’ll know,” she says, “we’ll make sure of it.” 

Finnick kisses the top of her head and they lie together in the darkness, though sleep is far from his mind. He hears Annie’s breathing slow and assumes she’s drifted off until she speaks softly, her voice so faint that Finnick strains to make out her words. “I’m so scared I’ll forget everyone.” She lifts her head and meets Finnick’s eyes. “Sometimes I want to forget. But we can’t.”

Finnick nods. “I know,” he says, “we’ll remind each other.”

She searches his face, and he sees his own pain reflected in her green eyes. Remembering the people they lost brings so much pain and heartache that sometimes he thinks it would be better if they could forget. But then he pictures his father, playing his fiddle in the town square to celebrate a local couple’s marriage. He sees his brother, expertly navigating through the storm to bring them home safe and sound. He even sees his mother, laughing on the beach, a memory so vague that he’s not even sure if it’s real or just an image his brain composed from the pictures and stories he’s been told. As much as it hurts to remember, he knows the pain would be worse if it was like they never existed at all. All of this passes between them as they look into each other’s eyes. Annie leans up to press a kiss to his cheek, then lays her head back down on Finnick’s chest. He lets the sound of her breathing lull him to sleep and dreams of his brother, teaching a child with green eyes and bronze curls how to sail.

\--

One day, Finnick comes home from fishing to find Annie waiting for him on the porch. He kisses her hello, then leans down to kiss her belly. “What are you doing out here?” he asks.

“I’ve been working on something,” she says carefully. She takes his hand and leads him to the other side of the porch and points to the first seashell on the railing. “Start with that one.”

He takes the shell in his hand and at first he doesn’t notice anything different. It’s a perfect oval, shiny in the fading light. His father always called these mermaid’s toenails. “Turn it over,” Annie says softly. He does, and on the bottom of the shell he sees four letters painted in Annie’s careful handwriting. Mags. He looks at her and she gestures to the next one. Wiress. Cecelia. Chaff. Seeder. He follows the shells along the railing, lifting each one to see the name of another tribute they lost, allies lost in the war, loved ones taken from them either by nature or by the Capitol. He turns over the last two shells in the row and lets out a breath when he sees the names. Caspian. Adrian.

He turns to look at Annie and sees her watching him with a careful expression. “I had to do something,” she explains. He sees tears threatening to spill from her eyes and realizes his tears are already falling. “Something so I don’t forget.”

Finnick pulls her close. “It’s perfect,” he tells her. And it is. She’s created their own little monument to all the people they lost in getting to where they are. Many of them, Finnick realizes with a shudder, lost their lives because of him, either directly or indirectly. He knows what she meant, about wanting to forget but at the same time being afraid to. He needs to remember the destruction, the pain, and the loss to truly appreciate the life they’re building for themselves. To remind them that they will never again be pawns in someone else’s games. Annie takes his hand and leads him inside, leaving the windchimes on the porch tinkling their soft melody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't understand how Suzanne Collins was able to kill off her characters because this hurt to write.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a sort of delayed update! I've been trying to update twice a week but this week I went back to work full-time after almost six months of working from home and it's been exhausting. But I'm excited to share a new chapter! I've also updated the total number of chapters - I had an idea that needed to be its own chapter so now I'll have twelve.

Annie is having one of her bad days. Finnick wakes to see her staring at the ceiling, a faraway look in her eyes telling him she’s seeing horrors he can only imagine. His heart aches at how helpless he feels, completely unable to fight the enemies in her mind. He rolls onto his side and gently leans in to whisper in her ear. “Annie, I’m here. You’re safe.” Her eyes find his, her normally piercing gaze clouded.

“Finnick,” she whimpers, but her mind is somewhere else. Back in the arena, or maybe in the Capitol. There’s no shortage of nightmares to choose from. “Water,” she whispers. The arena, then. “Have to…” she trails off.

“Have to swim,” he finishes for her. “You did, Annie. You swam. You got out.” She nods, dazed, and turns her eyes back to the ceiling. She squeezes her eyes shut and brings her hands to cover her ears, trying to block out the noise in her own head.

“You’re safe,” he whispers, stroking her hair. She stays silent, barely moving except for the occasional shudders that course through her body. He pictures her, floating through the water with her red hair billowing around her face. He watches his monitor as tribute after tribute gives in to the water, hears the cannons fire as he wills Annie to keep floating, keep swimming, keep her head above water for just a little longer. Watching her now, he imagines she’s re-living things he couldn’t sense from his seat in the mentors’ lounge - the roaring of the water in her ears, the strangled breathing of the other tributes, the icy cold cutting to her bones, the heaviness of her limbs as she contemplates if it would be easier to just let herself sink. The taste of blood mixed with salt water. 

When she got out of the arena, he didn’t know what to do. He’d never had a tribute survive, didn’t know what his role was now that she was safe. For days she didn’t speak and barely looked at him when he tried to talk to her, her eyes always unfocused and dazed. He knows now that she didn’t even register his presence, so lost in her own mind. When they got back to District Four he thought that was the end of his responsibilities as a mentor, but he kept finding himself drawn to her. He’d stop by her house to make sure she was eating and invite her to walk on the beach only to quickly change course when the sound of the water had her frozen in her tracks. Instead they walked up and down the lane in the Victors Village, never speaking a word but finding comfort in each other’s company.

Gradually, each day she led them a little further down the beach, collecting shells as she brought herself closer to the water before stopping and turning back. Finally, one day, she walked purposefully to the water's edge and stood, letting the waves brush against her feet. She bent down and picked up a shell, a long delicate spiral that she cradled gently in her hand. She turned back to Finnick and gestured for him to come closer, then placed the shell in his outstretched hand. “For you,” she said simply, and Finnick almost cried with relief at the sound of her voice.

It became their ritual, walking on the beach and choosing seashells to offer each other. Slowly, she opened up more and began talking again - hesitantly at first, as if she didn’t trust her voice to stay. She told Finnick about her sister Fiona, how she practically raised Annie after their father left and their mother drank herself to death and how she doesn’t seem to know what to do with Annie now. She told him legends about the sea, stories of sirens and sea witches and mermaids who gave up their voice to live on land.

Finnick told her things too. Not everything. He held himself back, always careful not to reveal too much, not to tell her anything that would put her in danger. He was still her mentor, still responsible for keeping her alive. He told her about his life before the Games, the way his brother always burned the bread and how after a time he started to prefer it that way. He taught her how to tie knots the way his father showed him. Still, he tried to be careful. Tried to keep her at arms length, to keep her safe. Later he realized it was a fool's errand, trying not to fall for Annie Cresta. Before he knew it he couldn’t imagine life without her.

“Finnick,” Annie cries out, her hands shaking as they cover her ears, tears pooling in her vacant eyes. “Please not Finnick.” He leans down to gently kiss her forehead and whispers, “I’m here, Annie. I’m right here.” He rocks her gently and holds her close, whispering repeated assurances that they are safe, the arena is long gone. He’s not sure he’ll ever fully believe it.

\--

_“Left,” Mags says. Finnick obliges and strains as he follows her instructions and pushes the sofa into place. Mags takes a step back and frowns in concentration. “Back the other way.”_

_Finnick groans. “Is this your way of telling me I need to exercise more?” he asks with a wink._

_“Oh hush,” Mags says. “I would move it myself but you insisted.”_

_Finnick rolls his eyes, “Mags, please don’t move furniture by yourself.”_

_She waves a hand, dismissing his concern. “Come on now, to the right.”_

_Finnick sighs and pushes the old sofa back to what he is certain is the exact spot it started in. When Mags nods her satisfaction, he collapses into the cushions and stretches his tired arms._ _Suddenly, the television in the room switches on, the seal of Panem growing bright before Caesar Flickerman makes his appearance, babbling about the lovestruck victors from District Twelve._

_“Damn required programming,” Mags grumbles, waving her cane at the television._

_They sit in silence, watching the female victor from District Twelve pose in different wedding gowns while the audience cheers for their favorites. Finnick can’t help but flinch at the hungry look in the Capitol audience’s eyes, a look he’s been all too familiar with for the last ten years. He studies Katniss’s expression in the photos. The love story they’re selling is probably as genuine as Haymitch’s promises to stay sober for more than a day, but he has to give her credit for her commitment to the ruse. He doesn’t have to wonder how she was convinced to play along._

_As Caesar winds down the program, Finnick yawns and stretches, dimly wondering if the fervor over the District Twelve wedding is the reason he hasn’t been ordered back to the Capitol in the last few weeks. This would normally be a relief for him but now that his visits to the Capitol also include gathering information for the rebels, it puts him on edge. Finnick hears Caesar say something about the Quarter Quell and he freezes._

_“The Games are months away, why are they bringing that up now?” he asks, puzzled, turning to look at Mags. He jumps to his feet when he sees that Mags has gone pale, her lips set in a grim line._

_“It’s the reading of the card,” she whispers, then snaps her head to look at him. “Go home to Annie, fast,” she urges him. “Go!”_ _Finnick doesn’t need to be told twice. He bolts out the door and up the hill, pushing through the gate to Annie’s house and leaping up the steps to the front door._

_“Annie?” he calls out as he runs inside, skidding to a stop when he sees her sitting on the floor with her back against the sofa, her knees pulled to her chest and her hands over her ears. He follows her gaze to the television and sees President Snow talking about the Dark Days._

_“Annie,” he says softly, coming around to sit next to her and put his arm around her. She looks at him with panicked eyes and Finnick gently brings his free hand to her cheek. “You’re safe,” he whispers. She brings her hands to hold his and nods, taking a deep breath. Anything to do with the Games is always hard for her, always floods her with memories too strong for her to fight. During the first Games after her victory she didn't speak at all from the reaping to the end of the Games, and then barely recovered before the Victory Tour started and she was lost again. Her wounds from the arena are still so fresh, even now, five years later. His heart aches as he watches her turn back to the television, unable to look away no matter how badly she wants to._

_On the screen, President Snow has finished his speech and Finnick buries his nose in Annie’s hair, breathing deeply to inhale her scent and replace the sickly combination of blood and roses that fills his nostrils. Snow pulls an envelope from an ornate box and opens it slowly, removing a single white card. His snakelike eyes rake over the words on the card as he reads, “On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.” The crowd on television falls into a stunned silence and Finnick blinks, processing the President’s words._

_Annie clasps her hands over her ears and screams, a long, high-pitched wail that gives way to choking sounds as her breaths come too fast for her to keep up. She rocks slowly from side to side, her green eyes wide and unblinking._ _For a moment, Finnick is frozen as the President’s words wash over him. Existing pool of victors. He has a one in three chance of going back in the arena, and with the way things are going, there is no doubt in his mind that his name will be called. Even if it isn’t, he knows he’ll be asked to volunteer. To do his part for the rebellion. To keep the Mockingjay alive. His fate is sealed, but not Annie’s. Annie has a one in three chance too, and she won’t be asked to volunteer. He dimly registers that this line of thinking ends in either Mags or Catalina going in her place, but he doesn’t allow himself to think that far._

_His arm is still around Annie and he feels her shaking, feels her slipping away from him. He snaps back into focus and starts whispering to her, trying to keep his rising panic at bay. “Annie, I’m here,” he whispers, tears blurring his vision and threatening to spill over. “You’re safe. I won’t let them hurt you. I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe, Annie, we’re safe.” He chokes out a sob as he realizes that he’s not even convincing himself. They were supposed to be safe. Annie was supposed to be safe. The Capitol can break him down, take pieces of him away, take his future, but not Annie. She was supposed to be done. She did it, she swam, she got out of the arena, she beat the odds. They were supposed to be safe. He pulls Annie closer and feels his tears fall into her hair as they both sob, clinging to each other to stay afloat._

\--

Slowly, Annie comes back to him. She lowers her hands and meets Finnick’s eyes with an unfocused gaze, like she doesn’t trust that what she’s seeing is real and not another trick of her mind.

“You’re here,” she whispers, her voice cracking.

“Always,” he whispers back, brushing his lips across her forehead.

She closes her eyes and rests her head on his chest, breathing deeply. Finnick matches his breaths to hers and runs his fingers through her hair, being careful not to overwhelm her with too much contact, just enough to ground her and show her that he's real.

“I keep thinking it’ll stop,” she says quietly, turning her head to look up at him. Finnick strokes her cheek, traces the lines of her face with a light touch. “I’ll wake up one day and I won’t have to fight so hard.” Finnick makes a pained noise. He hates it, hates how much it takes for her to just face each day. Even if the Capitol had never touched him, if Snow never took control of his life, he still would have burned it all to the ground for what they did to Annie. 

“You don’t have to fight alone,” he whispers, brushing his hand across her cheek.

“I know,” she murmurs. “It helps to wake up and have you here. So much of what scares me is losing you.”

“I know the feeling,” he says. They lay in silence for a while, the sun casting new shadows as it trails its path through the sky.

Annie lifts her head. “Let’s go to the water,” she whispers. 

Finnick nods, knowing the ocean breeze and calls of seagulls are sometimes the best way for her reality to come back into focus. He extends his hands to Annie and helps her stand, wrapping his arm around her waist as her feet touch the floor as if he’s afraid she’ll fall over. She leans into him and he waits for her to start towards the door. They join hands and walk toward the beach, moving slowly the way they do on Anine’s bad days, when she needs to use most of her energy just to keep her mind from playing tricks on her.

As they get closer to the water, Finnick senses a lightness in Annie’s step and can almost watch as her energy is restored, the light in her eyes growing until all traces of the clouds that overtook her this morning are gone. They walk along the shore, letting the waves wash over their feet as they look for shells to add to Annie’s collection. Annie points out at the water and they watch a sleek black bird dive into the crest of a wave, coming up with a fish clasped in its beak. Annie sighs, lifting her hand to caress her stomach. Finnick puts his arms around her, resting his hands over hers, and feels her lean into his chest. He presses a kiss to her cheek and sighs contentedly, looking out over the horizon.

On days like this when they come to the water to help clear Annie's mind, he can't help but think of the trembling girl who came out of the arena, who showed him a strength and resilience he could never imagine and faced her demons in her own way, in her own time. He is forever in awe of her strength, the way she decided she wouldn't let the Games take everything from her and chose to survive. He knows that he wouldn't have survived without her. 

"Thank you," she says quietly, turning her head slightly to look at him.

Finnick cocks his head to the side, puzzled. "For what?"

"For all of this. For fighting for me. For us," she answers. 

"You fought for us too," he says, pressing a kiss to her hair. She turns to face him and clasps her hands behind his neck, stroking her fingers through his unruly curls. 

"I just mean... You could have left me alone after the arena. But you didn't. You were always there, even when I didn't expect it. And you're still here," she explains softly, her voice shaking slightly at the mention of the arena and the dark weeks that followed.

"I couldn't have left you alone," Finnick says earnestly. The thought had crossed his mind, that he should leave her alone - it was too dangerous for both of them if he got attached - but he couldn't let go. He may have tried to deny it, but Annie had a hold on him that grew stronger every day they spent together until he knew that he would do anything to keep her safe and keep her from the life he was forced into. She smiles slightly and touches her forehead to his. 

"I'm glad you didn't," she says quietly. "You gave so much for me. It's sometimes hard to imagine how much."

"Annie," he starts, wanting to tell her that she is worth it, that he could never give enough if it meant she could be happy. 

She shakes her head. "I just wish I could do the same for you."

"You do," Finnick says earnestly, "you have, a hundred times over. Annie, I would be long gone if it wasn't for you. I was barely holding on when I met you." He thinks back to their first meeting, on the train to the Capitol after the reaping. Still reeling from Adrian's death, it had taken all of his strength to put one foot in front of the other and keep from collapsing in a panic as the train neared the Capitol. He had thrown himself into preparing Annie for the arena and hustling for sponsors, desperate to keep her alive, to not add another name to the growing list of lives lost because of him.

"We were both such messes," Annie says with a small laugh. "And now look at us."

Finnick chuckles. "I'm still a mess."

"Me too," she admits, "but we have each other."

"We do," Finnick says, leaning down to kiss her. "Always."

\--

_“Have you heard the story about the mermaid who traded her voice for legs?” Annie asks, breaking the comfortable silence between them as they sit on the sand and watch the tide move closer. Finnick looks at her and shakes his head._

_“No,” he says, an amused smile on his lips. He still can’t figure her out, this strange girl with the ocean in her eyes, fearful but strong, cautious and determined. She’s only been out of the arena for a few months and Finnick knows it’s always in the back of her mind, but she’s getting better at finding what’s real. They spend most of their time at the beach now that she can separate the District Four ocean from the icy water of the arena. “It feels right,” she had explained simply when Finnick asked her how she could stand being near the water. He's not sure exactly what she meant, but he can see it in the way their days on the beach breathe life into her - her words come easier here, and her smiles. She laughs, too. Finnick would do anything to hear her laugh._

_A voice in the back of his mind nags him not to get too close and reminds him that caring for Annie Cresta (or worse, having her care for him) will only end in pain for both of them. As her mentor, he’s supposed to keep her safe. He can’t bring her into his world. His world is closed doors and crowded rooms and darkness, never alone, never safe. Annie is a breath of fresh air, warm sunlight on his skin, a vast ocean waiting to call him home. He can't take that from her - can't bring her into his darkness - and yet he’s here, seeking out her warmth and drinking in the stories she tells him, marveling still at how much she’s changed from the petrified, speechless girl who came out of the arena._

_Annie holds up a seashell formed into a perfect spiral, striped with pearly white and tan lines that glint in the sunlight. “There was a mermaid,” she begins, “a princess of the sea. She had everything she could ever want in her father’s kingdom, but she still felt something was missing. Every day she’d swim for miles, searching for what would make her feel complete. One day a ship passed over her. She started to swim deeper, so the humans wouldn’t see her, but something inside her said to go to the surface.” Annie twirls the shell in her hands, her eyes still focused on the horizon._

_“On the deck of the ship she saw a man with golden hair and kind eyes. A prince. She had never seen anything so beautiful. As she watched, a storm suddenly appeared, and tossed the ship into the rocks. She saved the prince from drowning and pulled him to shore, left him on the beach, and returned to her father’s kingdom.”_

_Finnick listens with rapt attention as Annie weaves her story._

_“The mermaid tried to forget the prince, but she couldn’t. She confided in her grandmother, who told her it’s dangerous to get involved with humans and to put him out of her mind for her own good. Distraught, she fled to the deepest, darkest part of the ocean to the lair of a sea witch. She begged the sea witch to help her become human so she could be united with the prince, her true love. The sea witch told the mermaid about a potion that would give her legs to walk on land and the ability to dance like no one has ever danced. If she took the potion and won the love of the prince, the spell would last forever. But, if he fell in love with someone else and married them, the mermaid would die of a broken heart at dawn after the wedding and be turned into sea foam. The mermaid asked for the potion and the sea witch told her it could be hers, if she gave the sea witch her voice. So the mermaid sang for the sea witch and the sea witch captured her voice in a seashell she wore around her neck. The mermaid swam to the surface to take the potion. When she drank the potion, her transformation was so painful that she fainted, and the prince found her the next morning on the steps of the palace. He took her in and she realized that the sea witch didn’t tell her the potion would make each step incredibly painful, like she was walking on knives everywhere she went. But still, she stayed with the prince and became his confident. He told her about the shipwreck and his feeling that the mysterious woman who rescued him was his true love. She was desperate for him to see that she was the one who rescued him, that she loved him and he loved her, but she couldn't speak to tell him. One night he took her down to the beach where she brought him the night she saved him. She thought he was going to tell her he loved her. Instead, he told her that he was going to marry the princess from the neighboring kingdom. He had seen her when her family visited the palace and he believed she was the one who saved him from drowning. On the day of the prince’s wedding, the mermaid watched the celebration in despair, knowing that she would die and return to the sea come morning. As she watched the wedding, a wave came toward her carrying a silver dagger and a message from the sea witch. If she killed her prince and let his blood drip on her feet, the message read, the potion would be reversed. She would become a mermaid again and could return to her life in the sea. All she had to do was kill the man she loved, the man who had rejected her. The mermaid took the dagger and waited for the prince and his new wife to fall asleep. She approached their bed, her feet aching with every step, and raised the dagger high above her head, ready to plunge it into his heart and end all of her pain. But she couldn’t do it. She threw herself and the dagger into the ocean as dawn broke and she was turned to foam.”_

_Annie falls silent, and Finnick waits for her to finish the story, then realizes she is finished._

_“That’s the ending?” he asks incredulously._

_Annie looks at him curiously. “That’s the ending,” she confirms._

_“He doesn’t realize the mermaid is the one who saved him?” he asks._

_Annie shakes her head._

_“And he doesn't fall in love with her?”_

_“No,” Annie answers. “He loves the princess.”_

_“So she just dies?”_

_“Maybe she thinks she can’t live without him,” Annie answers slowly, as if considering each word._

_They sit in silence again as Finnick thinks about the story, about how it must feel to give up everything - your voice, your home, your family - and put yourself through so much pain to be close to someone, only to be rejected and cast aside, leaving you to die heartbroken and alone._

_“That’s a sad story,” Finnick says finally._

_“My mom wasn’t big on happy endings,” Annie says sadly, meeting his gaze. “She told me that one when I was little. Fiona always hated it, but I like it. It’s sweet, in a sad way. She goes after love and when he doesn’t love her back, she still loves him so much that she sacrifices herself for him to have his happiness.”_

_Finnick shifts uncomfortably, pulling his eyes away from Annie’s and looking out over the horizon. He wonders if he’ll ever know how it feels to love someone that much, to be willing to give up his own life for them. He wonders if that kind of love even exists in his world, where people pay for a cheap imitation of love that only lasts a night and makes him sick to his stomach in the morning. If that love exists, he’s sure it’s not for him. People only think they love him. They love the idea of him, the danger, the sexy thrill of being with someone who has seen death and escaped it. They use him, get their fill, and cast him aside. No one is giving up their life for him._

_Finnick looks over at Annie and watches her mindlessly turn the shell in her hands, her eyes following the waves as they crash onto the shore. She looks back at him and meets his eyes with a small smile. Finnick feels himself smile back, then turns his eyes to the horizon, imagining mermaids and sea witches moving below the waves._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve ever wondered how the non-Disney version of The Little Mermaid goes, there you have it! The original fairy tale by Hans Christian Anderson is actually a little more gory than this version Annie told but does have a slightly more uplifting ending. I was thinking of it as an oral story that’s been passed down for generations so has gone through some changes over time. Obviously the plot and story belong to Hans Christian Anderson/Disney so I borrowed from them for Annie's story. 
> 
> Text for the reading of the Quarter Quell card belongs to Suzanne Collins.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the longest chapter yet, and originally it was going to be combined with the last chapter but then I just had more to write for each of them so it became two chapters. I hope you enjoy!

Finnick doesn’t mean to stop in front of the house. He’s on his way home from working on repairs to his father’s boat, his muscles sore, looking forward to relaxing with a nice dinner, and before he knows it he’s standing at the gate and looking up at the ivy-covered porch. Hydrangeas bloom in stunning hues of purple and blue and he can almost see Mags moving around the garden with her watering can, coaxing growth out of the stubborn plants. This house was always more of a home to him than his own, the first place he felt safe in the Victors Village when he was just a young boy reeling from the loss of his father, but he hasn’t been able to go past the front gate in the months he’s been back in District Four. The ghost of Mags's memory is everywhere in the district but it's strongest here, where they spent so much of their time together.

The last time he was inside this house was the morning of the reaping, when he and Annie went to collect Mags on their way to town. She had kissed his cheek and taken Annie's trembling hands in her steady ones, not letting go until they were on stage in front of the Justice Building. Finnick thinks he should have known then what she was going to do. On some level, maybe he had known, but selfishly prioritized Annie's safety and refused to acknowledge that her safety meant death for Mags or Catalina. So much has changed since then. He's changed. He's not sure he can face it - seeing the rooms Mags filled with life sitting empty, knowing that he could have saved her and instead let her go. 

He’s not sure what pushes him to do it - maybe it's the welcoming sight of the flowers or the way the breeze blowing by gently sets the chair on the porch rocking - but now he tentatively opens the gate and steps towards the porch. The fragrance of the garden grows stronger as he moves closer, reminding him of all the days he spent in this garden, fixing things on the porch or shucking oysters while Mags tended to the flowers and chattered away. He stops at the front steps and breathes deeply, holding onto the memory, the safety he always felt here, like nothing could touch him within this garden.

Unable to move closer, Finnick sits on the steps and looks at the rocking chair where Mags used to sit until the stars came out. This is where he sat when he told her about his father, when he told her about Adrian, when he didn’t tell her what Snow was making him do but she knew anyway and didn’t judge him or look at him any differently. This is where they shared happy moments too, like when he admitted he had feelings for Annie and when she genuinely cheered when he told her they were together. 

A new wave of guilt washes over him as he thinks about the time he spent in District Four before the reaping, when he spent less time with Mags and more time with Annie, knowing their days were numbered. He never imagined he would actually get out of the arena alive and he can't help but feel that he abandoned Mags in those last few weeks. Like he abandoned her in the arena. He shudders and presses his face in his hands.

\--

_“Ladies and Gentlemen, today we select the tributes who will have the honor of representing District Four in the 75th Hunger Games,” Aristide begins before launching into his usual speech about the Dark Days, and the Games, and how terrible it would be for the districts to rise up and take on the Capitol, and how they’re all going to die… Finnick shakes his head slightly to clear his thoughts. The lights are bright in his eyes and he is very conscious that he is on camera, that he’s being watched, probably even more than the rest of them. He looks to his left and tries to catch Annie’s eye but she seems to be using every ounce of her energy to keep herself from collapsing on the stage. His heart aches and his hands almost reach for her before he realizes and stops himself. It will only make things worse if he makes such a public display of affection for her. The people in District Four have caught on to their relationship by now and don’t seem to care, but he can’t let the people of the Capitol find out that his heart belongs to the girl they think is mad._

_“And now, ladies first,” Aristide announces before walking deliberately to the comically large glass bowl with three slips of paper inside. Aristide selects one and walks slowly back to the microphone. Finnick watches helplessly and all he can think is “not Annie, not Annie, not Annie…”_

_“The female tribute for District Four…” Finnick holds his breath. “Annie Cresta.”_

_Time seems to stop. Finnick sees Annie crumple, hears her screams cut through the silence in the square, and he needs to get to her, needs to take her hand and run away from here, but he’s frozen in place. He feels a hand on his arm and looks around, dazed, to see Kai look at him and shake his head, the movement so small he’s sure none of the cameras caught it. He understands Kai's warning, knows that it won't help any of them if he runs to Annie now and makes a scene, but he's considering doing it anyway when he sees another figure at Annie's side step forward with an arm raised. Finnick’s thoughts haven’t caught up to his eyes and he doesn’t understand what he’s seeing until Aristide’s voice cuts through the sound of Annie’s screams and the ringing in Finnick’s ears._

_“We have a volunteer!” Aristide exclaims. “Mags Flanagan, the female tribute for District Four.” Finnick is flooded with relief - Annie is safe. He repeats the words to himself, trying to keep his face impassive as he silently rejoices that Annie isn't going back to the arena. A wave of horror slams into him as he processes what that means. Annie is safe because Mags volunteered. Mags is going back to the arena. He struggles to keep himself upright as he feels himself gasping for air thinking of Mags, kind hearted, strong-willed Mags who saved him from the arena and kept saving him every moment since. Annie is safe. Mags is not._ _He turns the thoughts over in his mind and tries to reconcile the wildly different emotions competing for his attention and is so lost in his own thoughts that he barely registers when Aristide calls his name. He feels Kai’s hand on his arm again and it breaks him out of his stupor. He snaps back to reality and plasters on his signature golden boy smile as he steps forward, waving at the crowd and hoping the cameras aren’t close enough to see the tears in his eyes. Aristide directs him to stand next to Mags and he takes her arm, both of them leaning on each other as they face the solemn-faced District Four crowd._

_Finnick hears Annie’s choked sobs behind him and turns on the pretense of whispering something in Mags’s ear to lock eyes with Annie. He wants to pull her into his arms and kiss here there, in front of everyone in the District, in front of the cameras, wants to show everyone in the Capitol that he doesn't belong to them, but he can't. Instead he focuses on Annie's ocean eyes and tries to say everything he needs to say in that one glance. He wants to tell her he's sorry he didn't tell her this would happen, that he's sorry she'll have to watch him die. He wants to tell her it's okay to move on, that he understands. He wants to tell her to keep fighting, to keep her head above water, to fight for the life she deserves. He knows they'll be able to say goodbye, privately, but he doesn't know that he'll be able to voice any of this out loud. Not when they could be overheard. Annie focuses her gaze on him and he mouths “I love you” before Aristide demands his attention again._

_Before he knows it they’re being pulled back through the doors of the Justice Building. Instinctively, he reaches out for Annie but he’s already too far, already being pulled into the shadows of the building. The last thing he sees before the doors slam shut is the tears falling down her cheeks._ _Peacekeepers materialize out of nowhere and herd them toward the back exit._

_“Wait,” Finnick gasps, panicked, “we’re supposed to say goodbye.”_

_“Orders are to go straight to the train,” a Peacekeeper answers gruffly, “security reasons.”_

_“No,” Finnick gasps, pushing back and earning himself a harsh shove from the Peacekeeper closest to him. “No. I have to say goodbye. Annie. Annie!” he shouts, his voice growing increasingly panicked as he struggles against the Peacekeepers. He needs to get to Annie, needs to say goodbye. He needs to feel her in his arms one last time, needs to memorize every inch of her face to bring with him to his death. He feels rough hands on him, grabbing his arms and pushing him toward the back door as he fights for control. One of the Peacekeepers reaches for a taser at his belt when Finnick feels a gentle hand on his shoulder._

_Mags steps between him and the Peacekeeper, her eyes on Finnick. She meets his gaze and takes a deep breath, signaling him to breathe. He hadn't realized the air was choking him and he focuses on Mags, trying to calm himself. Mags puts her hand on his cheek and whispers quietly, “don’t fight. It will only make things worse.” Finnick thinks he sees a tear in her eye but she turns away before he can be sure. “We’re going,” she says harshly to the Peacekeeper who had been reaching for his weapon. Mags takes Finnick’s arm to lead him to the exit and he focuses on the weight of her hand on his arm to keep himself from slipping underwater._

_They’re joined on the train by Leif and Catalina, the two Finnick guesses have been selected as mentors. He knows he should be grateful that Annie wasn’t selected. He’s tried to keep her from the Capitol as much as he can, but there is a selfish part of him that hoped she’d make this final journey with him. Quickly, he shakes that thought from his mind. If she was going to have to watch him die, he'd rather she watch from home, with her sister, than in the harsh light of the mentors' control room, surrounded by people all rooting against him._ _Finnick looks between the two of them and can barely form words. “Annie?” he breathes helplessly. Catalina puts a hand on his arm. “Kai is looking after her. Said he’d get her to her sister.” She looks like she wants to say more but stops herself. Finnick nods, dazed, and falls into the closest chair. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, doesn’t pay attention while Aristide chatters about who the other tributes could be and what they might expect from the arena._

_He knows he doesn’t have time to fall apart, knows he will need to turn on the golden boy charm as soon as the train pulls into the Capitol - the stakes are too high this time for him to ruin everything by breaking down - but he can’t bring himself to pull it together. His mind is in District Four, wondering what Annie is doing, if she’s talking with her sister and taking care of her niece or if she’s lost to the world again, fighting the demons in her mind. He is pulled from his thoughts when he feels someone take a seat next to him. Mags watches him closely, her expression unreadable. At the sight of her, his guilt grows stronger and suffocates him. Mags volunteered for Annie, volunteered to die in Annie’s place, and he had been relieved._

_Finnick isn’t naive. Plutarch promised they would try to save as many of them from the arena as he could, but he knows not to rely on a Gamemaker’s promises. He’ll likely be dead in a few days. Mags too. And the rest of his friends who heard their names called today. Johanna is the only female victor from her district, he remembers dimly, there’s another one gone. And Mags… Mags, the one constant in his life for the last ten years, the person who tried her best to protect him and to pick him up when he fell apart from the things she couldn’t protect him from. If he survives the arena and Mags doesn’t… He feels himself crumple._

_“Mags,” he chokes out, “I’m sorry.”_

_“My dear boy,” she says as she puts her arms around him, “I couldn’t let you both go.” Her words break the dam inside Finnick and he leans into her and sobs. He feels so small, so young, like he’s fourteen again with no idea what was in store for him, if he’d even be alive in a week’s time. He’d cried on Mags’s shoulder then, too. He knows the time to fall apart is limited, knows he’ll have to pull it together fast if the rebels' plan is going to succeed, but for now he lets the tears flow for Annie, for Mags, for himself, for all of them who thought they were safe only to find out they could never escape._

\--

“There you are,” Annie’s soft voice reaches him where he sits on the porch with his head in his hands. He looks up and watches her cross the garden and sit next to him. “Did you go inside?” she asks gently.

He shakes his head. “I can’t.” He pauses and struggles with his thoughts. “Annie, I should have saved her. I shouldn’t have let her go,” he blurts, finally voicing the shame he’s felt since he watched Mags step forward to take Annie’s place, since he couldn’t carry her in the arena and watched helplessly as she walked into that deadly fog.

“Finnick,” Annie says softly, gently placing her hand on his cheek and turning his face to hers, trying to meet his eyes. “She knew what she was doing. It was her choice.”

“Not much of a choice,” he responds bitterly, then winces at his tone. 

“You’re right,” Annie agrees, “but she knew that.” Finnick doesn’t respond, still picturing Mags’s limbs convulsing as he forced himself to turn away and leave her behind. “Did I ever tell you about the days after you left?” Annie asks.

Finnick looks at her, surprised. “No,” he says. She laces their fingers together and rests her head on his shoulder, then takes a deep breath.

“It was… Bad,” she starts in a faltering voice. “I know Fiona was with me but I don’t even remember her being there. I kept seeing you being taken away or seeing myself in the arena…” Finnick strokes his thumb in circles on the back of her hand. “And I kept seeing Mags. The way she stepped up and volunteered for me. I kept seeing…” her voice breaks and drops to a whisper. “Kept seeing her die. Knowing it was my fault, because she took my place.”

“Annie,” Finnick says quietly, “you know that’s not true.”

She smiles sadly and looks at him. “Exactly,” she says simply, “It was Kai who got through to me eventually. I think Fiona was overwhelmed and she brought him in to help. He told me Mags would never have made a choice she didn’t understand and didn’t believe in. And that if I cared for her at all, if she meant anything to me, I’d let her make the choice and not waste the life she gave me.” She pauses. “I think it was the most Kai ever spoke to me,” she remarks with a quiet laugh. She lifts their clasped hands and kisses his gently. “Mags made those choices for both of us,” she tells him. “She gave us this life. We can’t waste it.”

Finnick wipes at his eyes. He feels like he’s always crying these days but he doesn’t mind. He’s had enough practice masking his emotions, it’s nice to allow them to sit so plainly on his face. 

“We can’t waste it,” he repeats, dazed. He knows she's right. Mags spent years mentoring tributes and watching them die, so when one of them survived he knew she kept fighting for them to survive everything that comes after the Games. She did it for him, for Annie, for Kai, for Catalina, for Leif... None of them would have survived as long as they did without her. He looks at Annie's hand in his and silently thanks Mags for keeping him alive all those years, for believing that he deserved to have a future. 

Finnick takes a deep breath and stands, helping Annie to her feet. Gripping her hand to steady himself, he walks up the steps and puts his hand on the doorknob. Gently, he turns the knob and pushes the door open, letting out a breath with the creaking of the hinges. He looks at Annie and she squeezes his hand and nods. Slowly, Finnick steps over the threshold.

As his eyes adjust to the darkness, he sees that it looks the same as it always has - the overstuffed sofa that she had him move into place, the rocking chair with the knitted blanket thrown over the back, Mags’s house slippers tucked neatly next to it. It looks the same, but it feels all wrong - cold and empty, a far cry from the warmth that filled every room Mags entered. He lets go of Annie’s hand and walks around the room, gently running his hands over the furniture and stirring up dust motes that dance in the sunlight streaming through the windows. He comes to the old wooden table in the corner of the room and stops, a small smile ghosting across his lips.

“Her music player,” he says softly, running a finger through the dust that has gathered on the polished wooden surface. With the touch, memories fill his mind and he sees Mags, lowering the needle and swaying to the music that crackles through the speakers. He leans down and blows gently, sending spirals of dust through the air. Carefully, he lowers the needle and watches the record start moving, listening for the crack of the speakers to give way to the music. The sound of piano fades into the room and he turns, extending his hand to Annie. She takes his hand with a smile and lets him pull her into his arms and sway them to the music.

“We can’t get as close as we used to,” she remarks, looking down at her growing stomach between them. Finnick laughs and presses a kiss to her cheek, keeping one hand firmly on her waist and the other holding hers. 

“Mags taught me to dance,” he says quietly, remembering the first day of his Victory Tour when Mags directed a sputtering Aristide to move the furniture of the train car so she could show Finnick “a proper waltz” before his first appearance. He’d been so nervous he kept stepping on her toes.

“She did?” Annie asks. Finnick nods.

“On my Victory Tour,” he explains, feeling his throat tighten at the memory. “She said I would embarrass her if I couldn’t keep up at the parties.” He trails off, darker thoughts coming in of all the parties Mags didn’t attend with him, the ones she couldn’t protect him from, where people didn’t so much want to dance with him to enjoy the music and his company but to get close enough to put their hands on him and whisper their dirty desires in his ear. Wanting to shake the feeling of faceless hands on his skin, he twirls Annie around and she laughs, the sound of her laughter a lifeline that pulls Finnick out of the memories that haunt him.

“She taught you well,” Annie says lightly. 

“She’d be very happy to hear you say that,” Finnick remarks with a laugh. “When we got together she kept telling me I had to get better so I didn’t step on your toes at our wedding.” His breath catches in his throat and he suddenly feels tears spring to his eyes as he’s hit with the weight of Mags’s sacrifice for them, knowing that they are only having this moment because of her choice to step forward and take Annie's place in the Games.

Annie takes her hand from where it was resting on his back and gently wipes the tear that falls on his cheek. “All that practice paid off,” she says with a small smile, “these toes had nothing to worry about.”

Finnick chuckles softly. “I wish she could have been there.”

“Me too,” Annie says.

“She always wanted this for us,” he says absentmindedly, thinking of all the ways Mags tried to make him believe he deserved a future with Annie, even when he was drowning in self-loathing and guilt that he could never give himself to Annie without the threat of the Capitol closing in. 

\--

_“Don’t you worry, Finnick, I’ll keep an eye on her,” Mags waves a hand as Finnick sits on the steps of her porch, helping her mend a torn fishing net. “Worry about yourself, dear,” she adds meaningfully._

_Finnick wonders if Mags ever feels guilty for helping him win the Games. Sometimes he thinks it would have been better if he died in that arena and wonders if Mags thinks the same way - at least then she wouldn’t have to watch him be broken down by the Capitol and become a shell of the person he once was. He stops himself and tries to put himself in Mag’s shoes. Does he wish Annie died in that arena? Would she be better off if she hadn’t kept swimming, if she’d let the water claim her? Sometimes he thinks they would all be better off dead._

_“How did you do this for so long?” Finnick asks her. For longer than he’s been alive, Mags has been mentoring tributes in the Games, getting them ready and watching them die. Finnick has mentored every year now since his Games, and Annie is the only tribute he got out of the arena alive. He almost gave up hope after the first one, and in a matter of days he’ll be coaching yet another tribute, trying to give them enough advice so they can beat the odds and stay alive._

_Mags shakes her head. “No choice,” she says, “can’t just leave you kids to fend for yourselves.” Finnick looks at her closely. Mags, who is the closest person to a grandmother that he’s ever known, and yet had no children of her own. Finnick wonders if she wanted them, but stops himself. How could anyone who has been through the arena want to bring a child into a world where they could be reaped? Of all the victors he’s met, he can think of two who have children. Being the child of a victor won’t protect them from the Games, might even put the odds less in their favor, so why risk it?_

_“I brought some pie over to Annie the other day,” Mags’s voice cuts through his thoughts and he looks up at her, sees a smile playing on her lips, “her sister was there with the little baby. What’s the name again?”_

_“Molly,” Finnick answers with a smile._

_Mags nods. “She’s a feisty one. Started pulling my hair as soon as I held her.” Finick laughs._

_“How is Annie doing?” Mags says in a voice that Finnick thinks sounds too casual, like she’s forcing herself to hide the deeper meaning in her question._

_“Depends on the day,” Finnick says quietly. “She’s so good with the baby, and Molly adores her. She never cries when Annie holds her. But it’s hard for her. Knowing that...” he stops, swallowing the lump that rises in his throat. “Knowing we can’t have that,” he finishes with a whisper, eyes focused intently on the section of net in his hands because he doesn’t think he can look at Mags’s concerned expression without falling apart._

_“Finnick,” Mags says with an intensity in her voice so strong that he looks up and suddenly feels like he’s fourteen again, clinging to every word Mags says like a lifeline. “You deserve to have that some day.”_

_Finnick grimaces and looks away. “Annie does.” Mags sighs heavily and he looks back at her. “What?” he asks defensively._

_“You both deserve it,” she says. “If it’s what you want. You’ll find a way.”_

_Finnick looks down at the net in his hands and lets out a humorless laugh._

_“You two are good for each other,” she tells him, “I know it’s not perfect but it’s about as close as you could get.”_

_Finnick allows himself a small smile. “When I can forget about everything else, it is kind of perfect,” he confesses. His smile fades. “But I can never forget for long.”_

_Mags nods, a shadow crossing her face. “Snow have plans for you while you’re in the Capitol?” she asks quietly._

_Finnick nods, not trusting his voice._

_Mags bites her lip, fingers twisting in the net. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, so quietly Finnick isn’t sure she wanted him to hear._

_\--_

They spend the rest of the evening steadily erasing the layer of dust that has settled over Mags's house and Finnick feels some of his guilt ebbing away with every surface he wipes clean. Annie cuts some flowers from the garden while Finnick throws open the windows and breathes deeply as the scent of the ocean air mixes with the delicate fragrance of the flowers.

"I can't believe the plants are still growing," he remarks when Annie brings in the flowers.

"I think Silas has been watering them," she explains as she divides the blossoms into separate vases and places them back where Mags had them around the room. Finnick smiles and goes back to his dusting, thinking that Mags would have loved having another green thumb for a neighbor. 

He saves the mantel over the fireplace for last. Once the rest of the house has been cleaned and dusted, he approaches it slowly, taking in the sight before him. The shelf is lined with photos Mags collected over the years, some in frames while others are exposed to the air, the paper becoming bent and yellowed over time. He carefully lifts each photograph and wipes away the dust, making sure to replace each one in exactly the same spot. As he cleans, he examines each photograph and tries to remember what Mags told him about the people in it.

First is the oldest one on the shelf - he's sure the paper was once white with a crisp black and white image, but now the whole thing has a yellowish hue and the image has faded so much that he has to squint to make out the details. He's seen it enough times and heard Mags talk about it enough to know that it's a photo of Mags as a young girl, either during the rebellion or shortly after, holding each of her parents' hands as she walks on the beach between them. The image is too faded to make out the faces and he tries to imagine what Mags looked like as a girl. He thinks she probably had the same smile.

As he moves down the line, he remembers the stories Mags would tell him. He smiles at the black and white photo of her on her wedding day, gazing up at her husband as they danced. She had told him about that day with a wistful smile - she had only been eighteen at the time, just a few years after winning the Games, and she had said it was one of the happiest days of her life. When Finnick asked what happened to her husband, she had hugged the photo tightly to her chest before telling him about losing her husband in a boating accident just days before their twentieth wedding anniversary. There are other photos of the two of them - some posed, some taken without them knowing - but the wedding photo is his favorite. Even in an old photograph, he can see the love between them, can see it in the people standing around them who came to celebrate their marriage. He had never told her this, but sometimes he would look at this photo to give himself hope that maybe things could work out for him and Annie some day.

Gently, he sets it down and continues methodically picking up each photograph to wipe away the dust and then setting it back down. When he comes close to the center, he takes the next photograph in his hands gently, as if afraid it will disappear if he moves too quickly. The wooden frame is sturdy in his hands and as he wipes the glass he studies the image. He remembers the day it was taken - Leif had decided to take a break from painting and wanted to try photography instead. He was going through the village, photographing whatever caught his eye when he came across Finnick and Mags sitting on the porch as they usually did, Mags rocking in her chair and Finnick lounging on the stairs. Finnick can’t remember what they had been talking about, but Leif had snapped the photo while both of them were laughing, Mags clapping her hands in front of her while Finnick’s smile dances on his face. Looking at it now, Finnick barely recognizes himself. They both look so happy, so free, like nothing could touch them as long as they were sitting on that porch. He blinks back the tears that spring to his eyes and tries to recall the warmth he felt when Mags was around, tries to let that feeling fill him now. He takes a deep breath as he returns the photo to its place and continues down the line.

When he’s finished, he turns to survey the room. Annie is sitting on the sofa, absentmindedly rubbing one hand over her stomach and trying too hard to make it look like she hasn’t been watching him. He feels lighter - though exhausted after the day of boat repairs and then cleaning, it feels like a weight has lifted off his shoulders. He sinks into the sofa next to Annie and places his hand over hers where it rests on her stomach. “How are you feeling?” he asks softly.

“Tired,” she answers, “but good. This one has been dancing around in there.” She gestures to her stomach. As if on cue, Finnick feels a flutter of movement under his hand. He still can’t get used to that, is still in awe that in a few short months there will be a new life in his and Annie’s world. 

"Ready to go?" Annie asks gently. Finnick nods and takes her hand to help her to her feet.

"Ready," he says. As they walk to the door, he hesitates, then turns back to the mantel and gently picks up the frame holding the photo of him and Mags. He touches his finger softly to her face, frozen in that familiar smile, and tucks the photo under his arm as he takes Annie's hand. She squeezes his hand and says nothing as she leads them back to their house. Inside, Annie arranges more fresh flowers from Mags's garden in a vase in the kitchen and Finnick smiles. It's like having a piece of Mags sitting at their kitchen table the way she always did when she would visit. He looks at the photograph in his hand and moves to the shelf over the fireplace, setting the frame down gently and arranging some of Annie's shells around it. Quietly, Annie comes to stand next to him and places one last blossom next to the frame, the bright purple petals contrasting with the dark wood of the frame and reminding Finnick of the days sitting on the porch with Mags. He puts his arm around Annie and kisses the top of her head, sending a silent thank you to Mags for doing all she could to keep them alive and to give them the chance to build their future together. He just wishes she could be there to see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write and I kept deleting and rewriting things. I really wanted to do Mags and her relationship with Finnick justice because she was such an important person in his life. 
> 
> Also, I made a Spotify playlist for this fic/these two in general so if you're into that sort of thing [here it is](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/06NnEI9F4SYels7fwP4NjW?si=0GM_AoP3RFqQ4UYNj98J9A)!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for this chapter: mentions of past sexual abuse

Summer slowly fades into autumn, bringing cool breezes, shorter days, and a new phase of Annie’s pregnancy.

“You’re doing it again,” Finnick says lightly, watching Annie with an amused look from his spot on the sofa as she moves through the living room. She looks up from where she’s fluffing and arranging the throw pillows for what he is pretty sure is the third time in the last thirty minutes. 

“Doing what?” she asks, moving to dust the already spotless shelf in the corner of the room. Again.

He laughs. “You’re nesting.”

She pauses to examine a spot and wipes her dust cloth over it again. “I just want things to be clean,” she says.

“You’ve cleaned that spot five times already.”

“Well, it’s still not right,” she says stubbornly.

Finnick stands and crosses the room to come up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a string of kisses to her neck. She relaxes back into his chest and puts down the cloth, bringing her hands to cover Finnick’s where they rest over her growing bump. “I might be nesting,” she admits. “I rearranged all of our clothes while you were sleeping this morning.” He chuckles softly in her ear. 

“Our baby will love these absolutely spotless shelves,” he tells her. She laughs and turns to face him, bringing her arms up to wrap around his neck and run her fingers through his hair.

“Our baby,” she whispers before pressing a kiss to his lips. “They’re going to be here so soon.”

“I can’t believe it,” he says, “what did Clara say yesterday?”

“She said everything looks good,” Annie answers with a small smile. “I keep waiting for something to go wrong,” she admits. “Clara said that’s normal, even for people who haven’t been through… Well, you know.”

“I know.” He takes her face in his hands and kisses her softly. “We’re ready,” he says, pressing their foreheads together.

“We are,” she says.

“And the house is very clean,” he says with a wink, kissing her again before taking her hand to pull her over to the sofa. She laughs and lowers herself down to curl up next to him, shifting to get comfortable. 

“What do you think they’ll be like?” she asks.

“Hopefully a lot like you,” Finnick answers. He means it. He hopes their child has every piece of Annie - her gentle resolve to push forward even when it would be much easier to give up, her sharp wit, her resilience. The way she sees everything, notices the beauty in things other people wouldn’t look twice at. How she cares so deeply for the people in her life and is fiercely protective of the ones she loves.

“A lot like you too,” she says, watching him. “Brave. And kind. With your big heart.” Finnick’s face twitches and he looks away, suddenly uneasy. Some days he’s able to push it down, the feeling that deep down, there is something broken within him. No kind person could have done the things he’s done. Was it brave of him to go along with whatever Snow told him to do, letting himself be sold and traded and passed around the Capitol, acting like it was all his idea? Was it kindness that made him want to hurt people, to hurt Snow and all of the people who used him and broke him over the years? How did his big heart survive the arena? Where he trapped other children under nets and speared them like fish in the shallows, feeling nothing as he watched the life drain from their eyes?

“Finnick,” Annie says gently, and he brings his gaze back to hers.

“Annie, what is our child going to think of me?” he asks desperately, searching her face for an answer. “When they know what I’ve done?” He sees tears in Annie’s eyes.

“They will think of how brave you were to get out,” she says carefully, holding his gaze, “and to fight so they could have a better world.” She places her hand over his heart and he feels it beat faster. “You, Finnick Odair, have the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met. You’ve saved me so many times, and you have so much love to give. I am lucky to have you as my husband and our baby is lucky to have you as their father.” 

He meets her gaze and tries to see himself through her eyes. He wants to, but some days all he sees is a man with blood on his hands, who killed without hesitation when it came down to it and then accepted the praise and attention that came after.

“I love you,” she says earnestly, her hand still over his heart, grounding him.

“I love you too,” he whispers desperately, knowing that he means those words with every piece of his being. It was inevitable, falling in love with Annie Cresta. What he doesn’t understand is how she fell in love with someone like him. 

\--

_ “Rough night Odair?” _

_ Finnick lifts his head to find the source of the gruff voice. It’s not easy with the way his head is spinning, but his eyes slowly focus on the familiar face at the end of the bar. _

_ “Haymitch,” he says, careful not to slur his words, “I’m having a great night.” _

_ The other man grimaces and moves down the bar to take the stool next to Finnick, taking a long swig from his glass before fixing Finnick with a surprisingly strong gaze. “Yeah, I’ve seen plenty of those great nights,” Haymitch says mockingly, “you ain’t fooling me, boy.” _

_ Finnick drops his head back down on the bar, letting the cool marble numb his racing thoughts. He squeezes his eyes shut as the memories he’s trying to escape resurface. Hands pulling at his clothes, touching him, wet lips and tongues on his lips, his neck, his chest, biting at his skin and leaving marks he can’t scrub off in the shower. Voices calling him beautiful, sexy, telling him they love him. The worst is when they want him to talk, want him to weave stories of adoration and make them believe he loves them. Or when they want to hear stories about the Games, about the lives he’s taken, like it’s some twisted turn-on for them to know the man in their bed could kill them if he wanted to. Sometimes he wants to kill them. “Tell me how it felt,” the woman he was with yesterday had said while pawing at his body, “how it felt when you killed them.” He sees a trident flying from his hand and landing in a chest, sees blood spurt out as he removes it, watching the life drain from his victim’s eyes. The smell of perfume and blood fills his nostrils and he gags, gasping for air. He tries to get up but he’s forced back onto the bed, the floor, the bathtub, the sofa, a different face pushing him every time. The faces blur together and all he sees are red eyes and fangs ready to sink into him, ready to tear him into pieces. He feels a hand on his shoulder and he swings into action, leaping to his feet and grabbing the offending wrist, twisting his attacker’s arm behind his back and- _

_ “Odair, seriously? We were just talking,” Haymitch says through gritted teeth, breathing hard as he tries to wriggle out of the hold Finnick has him trapped in. _

_ “Sorry,” Finnick says shakily, dropping his hand.  _

_ Haymitch turns to face him, rubbing his wrist. “Damn, I’m out of shape,” he mutters to himself. “I could’ve laid you out, boy,” he says, pointing a finger at Finnick. _

_ Finnick feels himself laugh, surprising himself with the sound. A ghost of a smile crosses Haymitch’s face and he takes his seat again, gesturing for Finnick to sit next to him. When Finnick hesitates, Haymitch holds his hands up in a mock surrender. “I’m not trying anything,” he swears, “I was only trying to shake you awake so you didn’t black out on me. You should leave that to the professionals,” he finishes, polishing off his drink and waving to the bartender to order another. The bartender brings two drinks over and passes one to Finnick, but Haymitch intercepts it and holds both protectively. _

_ “What are you doing here, Finnick?” he asks, a touch of concern on his otherwise impassive face. _

_ “Same as you,” Finnick says sarcastically, “I’m mentoring.” _

_ Haymitch shakes his head. “I mean what are you doing drinking alone in the bar.” _

_ “Nobody wanted the pleasure of my company tonight,” Finnick says sarcastically, wishing Haymitch would just give him his drink, although with the throbbing in his head he knows he’s already in for a painful morning.  _

_ “And every other night?” Haymitch asks with a knowing look. _

_ Finnick grimaces, avoiding the other man’s eyes. “Have to give the people what they want,” he spits out, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. _

_ Haymitch stills, watching Finnick carefully. “Who is he holding over your head?” he asks quietly, his tone more serious than Finnick has ever heard. Finnick doesn’t have to ask who he’s talking about. _

_ “Annie,” he says, not having the energy to deny Haymitch’s question. He hears Haymitch let out a low whistle and snaps his head to look at him. _

_ “I had a girl once,” Haymitch says, “and now here I am.” He gestures to the bar around them and takes a long sip from one of the glasses in front of him. “Yeah, I’m probably not a good role model for your situation. Snow hadn’t figured out his system yet. Took everyone I loved before he had the chance to use them against me.” _

_ Finnick grimaces. Snow knows exactly what he’s doing now. Annie is strong, so much stronger than people know or give her credit for, but Snow sees her as the mad girl from the arena and knows Finnick will do anything to keep her safe. In a way it’s safer for her if everyone thinks she’s mad. It keeps her out of the Capitol’s clutches - people aren’t lining up for the company of the crazy girl who might start screaming when they get too close. So Finnick plays along, never letting on that Annie is someone different with him, someone who has her bad days but is one of the strongest people he’s ever known. He does what Snow tells him to. He meets up with strangers, makes them feel special, lets them use his body and pour out their secrets to make themselves feel better about taking advantage of him. He doesn’t say no, doesn’t make a fuss, just turns on the charm and imagines himself far away from his body. In the morning he stands in the shower and scrubs his skin raw but can never wash away the filth they leave behind. He knows he’s doing this for Annie, to protect Annie, but he knows this life means he’ll never be good enough for her. She deserves someone clean, someone uncomplicated, someone who can give their whole self to her instead of the broken pieces left behind after everyone else has had their fill.  _

_ She has no future with him. His future belongs to President Snow, to the Capitol. He can never get married, never have children, never live his life on his own terms. Annie deserves to have that. He curses himself for being so selfish, for letting her get close to him when he knows she’ll only be hurt. He should never have let her kiss him, should never have gone back to her after their kiss and told her what he wanted. He should be strong enough to let her go, to let her have the future she can’t have with him. _

_ “You still with me, Odair?” _

_ Finnick blinks and sees Haymitch waving a hand in front of his face. “Yeah,” he says, his voice sticking in his throat. Haymitch considers him for a minute and then stands, leaving his now-empty glasses on the bar. _

_ “Come on,” he says, “I can’t leave you here like this.” He starts to walk over to the elevator, leaving Finnick no choice but to follow. When they get on the elevator, Haymitch presses the button for 4 and sighs. “I’m making sure you get inside and then I need another drink. My kids this year are hopeless, I’m going to need a good buzz to get through the bloodbath tomorrow.” _

_ The doors open on Finnick’s floor and he steps out of the elevator, followed by Haymitch. “Straight to bed,” Haymitch orders as he pulls open the doors to the tributes’ quarters. “Your kids probably have a fighting chance.”  _

_ Finnick moves toward his bedroom but stops and turns Haymitch. His head is starting to feel a little clearer, but the headache from all the booze is threatening to move in any second. “Thanks, Haymitch,” he says. “See you in the morning.” _

_ Haymitch nods and retreats back out the door, muttering under his breath. Finnick catches something that sounds like “didn’t sign up to be everyone’s damn mentor” before the door slams shut behind him.  _

_ He stumbles to his bedroom, tears his clothes off, and drops into bed, curling up under the silky sheets. He hates these Capitol beds, too big and soft and empty. He closes his eyes and imagines he’s at Annie’s house, under the quilt Mags made, holding Annie close and feeling her breath on his skin. He drifts into a restless sleep, haunted by the same hands and faces as always but this time, green eyes watch from the corner of the room as he struggles to escape. _

\--

“Finnick.” He hears his name from underwater, so faint he thinks he’s imagining it. “Finnick.” The voice grows closer, stronger. He feels hands reaching out for him and he jerks away, gasping for air.

“Finnick, it’s me. It’s Annie. You’re safe.” Finnick sits up and opens his eyes and realizes he’s panting, sheets wrapped around his legs where he must have been thrashing to get away from his nightmares. Early morning light fills the room and he squints, unable to shake the images that haunt him. 

“Annie,” he croaks, reaching for her. She wraps her arms around him and pulls him close, whispering soothing things into his ear until he feels his breath slow, feels the panic fade from his body to be replaced by the sense of calm he only feels when he’s with Annie. He finds Annie’s eyes and feels himself coming back together under her watchful gaze. She gently places a hand on his cheek and watches him carefully.

“Okay?” she asks quietly.

“I’m okay,” he answers. “I’m here.”

She nods but doesn’t move away. “It hasn’t been that bad for a while,” she whispers cautiously. Finnick closes his eyes and shakes his head slightly. She’s right. His nightmares have been less frequent lately, and when they do come they’re less powerful, easier for him to escape. 

“I think it’s…” He starts, then stops himself and frowns. “This is all getting real,” he whispers. “The baby. I’m…” He stops, struggling to put everything he’s feeling into words. That he’s still the same person who let his body be used, who soaked up the fame and attention he only earned by being good with a weapon. He’s still the person who put Annie at risk just by loving her, by being too selfish to let her go. “I don’t deserve this,” he says, his voice breaking. After all he did, he doesn’t deserve happiness, doesn’t deserve the future that all those people he let down will never get. Adrian. His father. Mags. All of the tributes he killed, some of them people he considered friends. None of them get to have this and it’s his fault. He feels his body shake with sobs and is dimly aware of Annie’s arms around him, rubbing soothing circles on his back, stroking his hair so gently it brings on a new wave of tears. She doesn’t say anything, just holds him while he cries. When the tears stop and his breathing slows, she lifts his head gently to look in his eyes. Finnick knows she understands the words he left unspoken, sees it in the sadness pooling in her eyes.

“I hate what they did to you,” Annie admits, “I hate that they made you think you don’t deserve to be happy. And I hate…” she pauses and tears fill her eyes but they don’t fall, as if she’s willing them to stay put. “I hate that you had to do so much of it to protect me.”

“I hurt everyone I ever loved,” Finnick says in a pained voice. “What if I hurt our baby?”

Annie shakes her head. “Finnick, you didn't hurt them.” She holds his face in her hands so that her face is all he can see. “It wasn’t your fault,” she whispers fiercely. He tries to hear her words, tries to process what she’s saying, but all he hears is your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

“If I had just let you go,” he starts, but she touches a finger to his lips to stop him.

“We’ve talked about this,” she says gently. “I decided for myself a long time ago that you were it for me.” Her tears start to fall. “I should have been the one to let go. Then you wouldn’t have needed to protect me.”

“I still would have loved you,” he says, voice thick with tears. “He was always going to be able to use you to hurt me.” Finnick feels tears fall from his own eyes as he circles his arms around Annie and pulls her into his chest, holding her close. “You’re the first person that ever made me think about having a future,” he whispers. “I thought I was holding you back from yours.”

Annie shakes her head. “Never,” she replies. After a long silence, she speaks again. “Remember what you said in the Capitol? Snow is dead. He can’t control us anymore.”

Finnick nods, turning her words over in his mind. He knows, in one part of him, that she’s right. Snow is gone, the Capitol is different now, Panem is different. He never has to see the Capitol again, and if he does it will be on his own terms. 

“It’s still hard to believe,” he admits. “Like this part is the dream, and I’ll wake up and be back there with-” he stops himself. He knows Annie knows what he did when he went to the Capitol all those times, but he’s never told her specifics. He can’t bring himself to pull her into that world. 

“I know,” she says. “We just have to keep reminding each other that this is real.”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “This is real.”

“We can do this,” Annie tells him. “We’ll lean on each other, and we’ll figure it out, and we’ll give this baby a good life where they know how loved they are.”

Finnick feels tears come to his eyes again and he wipes them away hastily, focusing on the hopeful look in her eyes. He nods. “We can do this,” he repeats, trying to convince himself. Deep down, he knows she’s right. He knows it because he loves her with all of his heart, and he loves their baby, and he’s never been more certain of anything. He knows Annie will keep reminding him, will keep helping him find things to be proud of. And if someone like Annie can love him, maybe there is something good about him. And maybe that’s enough to start with. There is something good in him because Annie loves him. He can hold on to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm trying to keep to updating at least once a week but I've been super busy so hopefully I'll be back with the next chapter soon :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little delayed in getting this chapter up, but I hope it's worth the wait!

“Annie?” Finnick calls as he pushes the door of the house open. 

“In here,” she replies and he frowns at the sound of her voice coming from the kitchen. He walks over and leans in the doorway, arms crossed as he watches her move around the room, pulling out dishes and utensils from the cupboards. 

“I thought you were taking the day to rest,” he says. Clara has been coming by almost daily now that they’re so close to Annie’s due date and has stressed that she should be taking things slow. Admittedly, Finnick may have taken that advice to the extreme by insisting to do everything for her, but he likes being able to take care of her.

“I was. And now I’m rested,” she replies matter of factly. 

He rolls his eyes and laughs. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“Have you ever grown another human?” she challenges, raising an eyebrow.

“Point taken,” he concedes with a laugh. Annie grins and turns back to the cupboard she was reaching for. “What are you doing then?” he asks curiously. 

Annie points to a worn book on the table. “Clara found one of Mags’s recipe books,” she explains, “I want to try making her pie.”

Finnick nods. After they finished clearing away the dust from Mags’s house, he and Annie had asked Clara if she wanted to move in, to be closer to them in case anything happened with Annie or the baby. She had been renting a room from someone in town and mentioned that she was looking for a place of her own where she could have more privacy, so it seemed like a good fit. Still, Finnick had hesitated before they offered, unsure if they were doing the right thing in letting someone fill Mags’s space. In the end, he had decided he’d rather have someone they know living there than some stranger from another district, or even the Capitol. Besides, Mags had liked Katniss. He’s sure she would have opened her home to Clara in a heartbeat, so Clara became their newest neighbor in the village. 

Finnick carefully lifts the stained cover of the book and turns the tattered pages to see recipes scrawled in Mags’s loose handwriting, some with notes written on the sides, others crossed out and rewritten as she perfected the recipes over the years. He looks over at Annie and sees her standing with her hands on her hips, frowning at the mixing bowl perched on the highest shelf of the cupboard. Finnick shakes his head and bites his lip to hide a smile before he reaches up to pull the bowl down, placing it in front of her and raising his eyebrows.

“I could have gotten that,” she says stubbornly.

“I know,” he replies, swooping in to kiss her cheek, “but I like helping.”

Annie narrows her eyes as Finnick looks at her innocently. “You’re trying to get me to relax again,” she accuses.

Finnick brings a hand to his chest and lets out an exaggerated gasp. “I would never,” he says seriously, fighting to keep the corner of his lip from twitching into a smile.

Annie shakes her head in exasperation and pulls out a chair at the table, carefully lowering herself to sit without taking her eyes off Finnick. “Well,” she says, “if you’re so eager to help…” 

Finnick laughs and pulls out another chair, gesturing for Annie to put her feet up. When she does, he moves to where she had been standing by the stove and tosses a towel over his shoulder before turning back to her. “Your sous chef reporting for duty,” he says with a wink. “Tell me what to do.”

Annie fights back a smile as she pulls the recipe book closer and flips to the correct page so she can read the list of ingredients for Finnick to retrieve. He follows her instructions dutifully, pausing occasionally to press a kiss to her head, her cheek, or her stomach, or to flick flour at her to hear her laugh ring out through the room. Once the pie is in the oven, he gently moves her feet so he can sit, placing her feet in his lap instead. Annie watches him, her hands resting over her stomach.

“You have flour on your face,” she teases.

“So do you,” he retorts with a mischievous smile.

Annie laughs, brushing her hand across her face. “I wonder how that happened,” she says, nudging him gently with her foot. 

“I have no idea,” Finnick replies airily, prompting another giggle from Annie. He smiles and reaches over to gently wipe the last bit of flour from her face, letting his hand linger against her cheek. She leans into his touch and gazes at him, her eyes bright with laughter.

“How do you feel today?” Finnick asks softly, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. 

“Good,” she answers, catching his hand and drawing lines across his palm with her fingers. “I may be a little tired,” she says loftily, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

Finnick tries to keep the amused expression off his face. “If only you had a husband who could encourage you to relax,” he says seriously, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. 

“Oh, if only,” Annie replies, raising her eyebrows.

“Come on,” he says, tilting his head toward the bedroom. Annie swings her feet to the floor and holds out her hands for Finnick to help her stand. He puts an arm around her waist and walks with her to their bedroom where he insists on fluffing the pillows before she lies down.

Annie laughs and stretches out on the bed, her hands coming to her stomach. “Now who’s nesting,” she murmurs with a yawn. Finnick grins and lays next to her, putting a hand on her stomach and pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

“Just making sure my wife is comfortable,” he whispers in her ear. Annie drifts off to sleep with a small smile playing on her lips. Finnick watches her, perfectly content to watch the rise and fall of her breath, the way the light from the crack in the curtains dances across her lips. Slowly, he adjusts his position so he can lay his head next to her stomach.

“Hey little one,” he whispers, careful not to disturb Annie. “It’s your dad. You tired your mom out so it’s just me here now. She’s working hard to help you grow in there. We’re ready for you, you know, but no pressure.” He pauses, feeling a little ridiculous talking to his sleeping wife’s stomach before remembering that Clara said the baby can hear them and can probably recognize their voices. “I love you so much,” he continues, blinking back tears, “you probably won’t understand until you’re older, but you’re a miracle for us. We can’t wait to meet you.”

He hears the timer go off in the kitchen and reluctantly gets up to check on the pie, pausing in the doorway to take in the sight of how peaceful Annie looks as she sleeps. He follows the warm scent of baked goods to the kitchen and pulls the pie from the oven, suddenly overwhelmed with the joy he feels that this is his life.

\--

_ “Here comes the sea monster!” Finnick teases, raising his hand over his head and bringing it down to lightly tickle Molly’s stomach. She squirms underneath him, kicking her feet and shrieking with laughter.  _

_ “Up, Uncle Finn!” she yells, raising her arms in the air. Finnick obliges, scooping her up in his arms and standing. _

_ “Where to, Captain?” he whispers conspiratorially.  _

_ “There!” she shouts, pointing her small hand toward the kitchen. _

_ “Aye aye,” Finnick says before rushing across the room, making ridiculous sounds to make her laugh as they burst into the kitchen. _

_ “Aunt Annie!” Molly yells, squirming in Finnick’s arms as she reaches for her aunt. Annie turns from the pot she’s stirring on the stove, amused, and wipes her hands on a towel before letting Molly leap into her arms.  _

_ “Hi there,” Annie says, pressing a kiss to her niece’s red curls. She pulls back, frowning. “Why is your hair sticky?” _

_ Molly just shrugs, more interested in reaching for the pot of chowder bubbling on the stove. Annie deftly moves her out of harm’s way, kissing Finnick on the cheek as she passes.  _

_ “There was an incident with some jam,” Finnick explains, raising his eyebrows.  _

_ Annie nods knowingly. “Oh, little one, what are we going to do with you?” _

_ “Play!” Molly shrieks as she throws her hands in the air. Annie laughs and bounces her up and down in her arms, the toddler’s laughter echoing around the room as both Finnick and Annie join in. Finnick feels a lightness in his chest as he watches Annie with her niece. He loves how easily Molly can make Annie smile, how freely she throws her head back and laughs at the little girl’s antics. He knows, too, how hard it is for her to watch her sister have experience motherhood, but she’ll never let that show in front of Molly. Molly reaches out to Finnick with one hand and beckons him closer so he follows, putting his arms around her and Annie and leaning down to kiss Annie on the cheek, then Molly. _

_ They hear the front door open and Fiona’s voice calling out for them. “Mama!” Molly shouts, climbing down from Annie’s arms and running to see her mother. Finnick and Annie follow, slower, and greet Fiona in the entryway as she hugs her daughter close.  _

_ “Where is your doll?” Fiona asks her, looking around.  _

_ “I dunno,” Molly shrugs. _

_ “Go look for it, then,” Fiona says gently, nudging her toward the other room. Molly gives an exaggerated sigh and slumps her shoulders, but follows her mother’s instruction and dutifully marches to the living room to retrieve her toy. _

_ “Thank you again for looking after her,” Fiona says gratefully when Molly is out of earshot. “Theo forgot. Again.” She sighs and Finnick shifts uncomfortably. He doesn’t know a lot about Fiona’s relationship with Molly’s father, and he hasn’t asked. All he knows is that the man never seems to be around, and when he is around there is always something more important than his daughter. Finnick tries not to judge, but he can’t understand who wouldn’t want to spend time with Molly. _

_ “Anyway,” Fiona continues, her voice brightening, “it’s good practice for you two!” _

_ Finnick’s eyebrows shoot up and he looks at Annie, whose expression seems frozen. _

_ “What?” Annie asks in a measured tone. _

_ “You know, practice for when you two have a kid. Until then you can always borrow Molls,” Fiona says distractedly as she gathers Molly’s things into her bag. Finnick and Annie are saved from needing to respond by Molly, who toddles back into the room with her forgotten doll clasped in her hand.  _

_ “Found it!” she shouts triumphantly, holding the toy over her head. Fiona leans down to lift Molly into her arms and turns to wave at Finnick and Annie.  _

_ “Say goodbye to Aunt Annie and Uncle Finnick, Molls,” she instructs her. Molly, too focused on her doll, waves distractedly in their direction. Fiona chuckles and tosses another thanks over her shoulder on her way out. _

_ The door slams behind her and Finnick feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. Fiona’s words hang between them and Finnick watches Annie, tries to read her expression, barely breathing as he tries to assess where her mind is. _

_ Annie shakes her head slightly, as if flicking water out of her ears, and glances quickly at Finnick before moving back toward the kitchen. “I’ll go check on dinner,” she says as she brushes past him. Finnick takes a deep breath, wanting to give her space but not knowing how much she needs. He knows she loves Molly, they both do, but at the same time he knows it hurts her to see her sister becoming a mother, raising her daughter, and knowing she can’t have that with Finnick. He had given up on wanting that a long time ago, until he found Annie. Being with her brought up all those old wants and hopes for the future just for him to push them down again, knowing they would never come to fruition. Unless… He stops himself before the thought can fully form. The rebellion Plutarch has promised is too fragile to hang his hopes on. He follows Annie to the kitchen and leans in the doorway, watching her stir the pot absentmindedly with one hand while biting her fingernails on the other hand. _

_ “Annie,” he says gently. She turns to look at him and he catches the faraway look in her eyes before she turns back to the stove, stirring more aggressively now. He walks up behind her and gently puts his hand over hers on the handle of the spoon, trying to calm her movements. She slumps against his chest and he hears her breath hitch. _

_ “It’s not fair,” Annie says quietly, her voice sounding like it’s coming from far away. _

_ “I know,” he whispers, at a loss for what he could possibly say to ease her pain. He knows Fiona means well, knows she can’t possibly understand what having a child would mean for them. Their child would always be in danger, Snow just waiting for Finnick to make one misstep before swooping in and bringing his destruction. That is, if he even let Annie live long enough to have a child. Finnick hasn’t seen the exact terms of his “arrangement” with the President, but he’s pretty sure marriage and a baby would lead to quick and painful retribution. Fiona doesn’t know all of that, she can’t. So she says things about the two of them and their future, never realizing that because her sister fell in love with Finnick she had her future stolen away from her. Finnick steps back and sits down at the table, running his hands through his hair distractedly. _

_ “You could have that,” he says in a pained voice. “With someone else.” _

_ “No, I couldn’t,” Annie says sharply, turning to face him. _

_ “Annie,” Finnick starts to protest, to tell her that she deserves better, that he understands if she wants to find someone else, someone who could give her everything she deserves. _

_ “Finnick,” she cuts him off, her voice rising. “Even if we weren’t together, even if I did settle down with someone else, I could never bring a child into this world where they could be shipped off to kill or be killed! Every single tribute that goes into that arena, that’s somebody’s baby. It’s hard enough with Molly, knowing that ten years from now it could be her name called at the reaping.” She wipes at the tears falling on her cheek and takes a deep breath, seeming surprised by her outburst. “Stop trying to convince me I’d be better off without you. You’re not the reason we can’t...” she trails off, her gaze unfocused. _

_ Finnick has managed to keep everything about the burgeoning rebellion secret from Annie, knowing it would put her in danger if she had even the smallest inkling of what was to come, and he has never felt close to wavering from that decision until right now. Seeing her look so heartbroken about the future she can’t have, he wants to tell her everything, wants to tell her that there could be a chance of a future without the Games, where they could have a family and be safe from the Capitol, but he knows it’s too risky. If he is going to be part of this rebellion, she can’t know anything about it. Besides, even if the rebellion succeeds, it’s not likely he’ll make it out alive. _

_ He reaches for her hand and she startles, her mind clearly somewhere else. He strokes her hand and looks at her, waiting for her focus to come back. Her eyes find his and he tries to think of something to say to comfort her, something that will make it seem okay that they have so few choices available to them. The words stick in his throat. _

_ Annie turns suddenly and goes back to preparing their dinner. Finnick watches her go and allows himself to imagine what their future could look like if the rebellion succeeds and if they both survive. For a moment, he pictures them in this house, a baby with bronze curls and green eyes filling the room with laughter. He sees Molly, a little older and flushed with pride, teaching her little cousin how to play her favorite games. And he sees Annie, doting on their child and showing them the unconditional love he’s been so lucky to feel with her. Annie turns back to ask him to get the bowls from the cupboard and he snaps back to reality. The dream is nice, but it’s just that - a dream. The rebellion is barely a thought in people’s minds and could take years to pull off. And even then, so many things would have to go right for him to survive to have that future with Annie. The dream is all they have. _

_ \-- _

The baby comes on a Tuesday. “It’s a good day,” Clara assures them when she arrives at their house, Silas in tow with a bag of supplies. “Tuesday babies are brave.” Finnick wonders dimly if that bravery could be transferable to the parents as he holds Annie around the waist while she walks slowly around the living room, a look of determination on her face. She’d had a bad day yesterday, one where she was lost to him for most of the day and couldn’t shake off the memories that filled her mind. He’d hardly slept, so worried that she’d wake with nightmares in the middle of the night.

She came back to him in the morning, the clouds cleared from her eyes, but then she’d gasped while he was making breakfast and her breaths came faster and she said it was time and Finnick called Clara and now Clara is here, laying out towels on the bed in their spare bedroom and timing Annie’s contractions and their baby is coming and Finnick needs to breathe. 

He focuses his attention on Annie’s face, the set of her jaw, her green eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted in a grimace as a wave of pain passes through her body. “Annie,” he whispers, “breathe.” He forces himself to take his own advice and takes a deep breath, watching her do the same.

“You’re doing great,” he murmurs in her ear, trying to stop his voice from shaking. He doesn’t know why he feels so scared but he’s terrified. He knows they’re ready, he’s excited, he’s happy, but his mind is a chorus of what ifs. What if something goes wrong. What if they lose the baby. What if he loses Annie. What if this was all a big set up and Snow walks in the door and takes their baby away… He shakes his head and focuses on Annie. Nothing will go wrong, he tells himself. They’re ready. Clara is here and she’ll make sure everything goes smoothly and Annie is strong, so strong, and they’re ready. 

“Finnick,” Annie says suddenly, gripping his hand and looking at him with wild eyes as Clara is helping her onto the bed. “What if I can’t do this?” she whispers fearfully, quiet enough that only he hears.

He squeezes her hand and leans in close, pressing his forehead to hers. “You can do this,” he says, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” She nods shakily and clenches his hand tighter as another wave of pain moves through her body. Finnick is dimly aware of Clara and Silas moving around, Clara’s voice firm yet soothing as she talks to Annie and tells her it’s time.

True to his word, Finnick stays glued to Annie’s side, letting her break the bones in his hand as long as it means she has something to hold onto. He wipes beads of sweat off her forehead with a cloth Clara hands him that smells faintly of lavender, wishing he could do more to ease her pain.

He is in complete awe of her. Annie has always been the strongest person he knows, someone who has been handed so much pain and still tries so hard to be present, to love wholeheartedly, to be there for him when he feels like he’s drowning. Watching her now, he’s reminded of the moment when the sun bursts through the clouds and it’s so bright that you can hardly look straight at it but you can’t look away because you want to soak up all of its warmth. Annie is his sun, the center of his universe, and she is so strong and so bright and he can’t look away, he never wants to look away.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, just knows the shadows in the room are getting longer and his hand has lost all feeling from Annie’s grip, when he suddenly hears a sound so pure and beautiful that his heart swells in his chest until he thinks it will burst. Their baby is here, this is real, they’re not a flutter in Annie’s stomach but a real live person, one that cries and breathes and breaks Finnick into pieces. He furiously blinks back tears as Clara watches them, beaming, and gently places the baby in Annie’s arms.

“Annie, Finnick,” Clara says, “meet your son.” She steps back and gestures at Silas and the two of them leave the room, quietly shutting the door behind them. Finnick wraps his arms around Annie and leans into her, gazing at the bundle in her arms. Their son. They have a son, and he’s healthy, and Annie is healthy, and their baby is here, and he’s real, he’s in Annie’s arms. Finnick feels tears start to stream down his cheeks as he takes in the tiny fragile thing in front of him. “Annie,” he chokes, “you did it. You’re incredible.”

Their son squirms in Annie’s arms, face red and eyes squinted against the light, his mouth forming a tiny circle as if he is surprised to find himself out in the world. Finnick has never seen anything so perfect. He didn’t think it was possible to love Annie any more, thought he had experienced the strongest love he could ever feel, but that pales in comparison to how he feels now, after watching her carry their child and bring him safely into the world. He’s never felt a love this strong and he welcomes it, lets it brighten the room and fill him with warmth so he feels like he’s floating.

“Hi little one,” Annie says softly, stroking the baby’s tousled hair with a gentle hand. “You’re really here,” she adds, as if in disbelief. She looks at Finnick, her eyes wide with wonder, then back to the baby in her arms. “Finnick, we have a son,” she says as the baby opens his eyes a little more, trying to find her voice. He waves his arm and Finnick reaches out carefully to hold his son’s hand, those impossibly small fingers so fragile that Finnick fears he’ll break them with the slightest movement. 

“He’s perfect,” Finnick breathes. 

“Here,” Annie says softly, moving carefully to the side to give FInnick more room to sit next to her. “Your turn.” She waits for Finnick to move closer and gently settles their son in his arms before resting her head on his shoulder and gazing adoringly at the baby.

Finnick realizes he’s holding his breath and lets it out slowly, afraid that any movement will break this fragile little being in front of him. He looks at his son and feels overwhelmed with love, and relief that his son is healthy, and fear that he’ll hurt him, that he won’t be a good father, that his son will hate him for what he’s done, but the fear is quickly replaced with a feeling it takes him a moment to name - hope. This is what he fought for all those years, even before he knew Annie or had any idea the rebellion would come to fruition. He knows that he will do anything to make sure his son never has to go through what his parents did, knows that he would go back and do it all again if it meant he could have this moment. 

“Hello,” he says softly, his voice breaking, “I’m your dad.” The baby moves in his arms, reacting to the sound of his voice. “I love you so much,” he whispers. He hears Annie sniffle next to him and sees her eyes filled with tears when he looks at her. She kisses him softly on the cheek and goes back to resting her head on his shoulder, one hand carefully stroking the baby’s head as if convincing herself he’s real. 

There is a quiet knock on the door and they both glance up to see Clara slowly pushing the door open, smiling at the sight of the three of them huddled together.

“I just wanted to check in before I go,” she says quietly, coming to the side of the bed. “How do you feel, Annie?”

“Perfect,” Annie says, barely taking her eyes off Finnick and the baby.

Clara chuckles. “Those birth hormones really help.” She winks and gathers the rest of her things, putting jars of herbs and her medicine book back in her bag. “I’ll come see you tomorrow, okay?” Annie nods and Clara leans over to squeeze her hand. She moves to the door and pauses. “Have you decided on a name?” she asks.

Finnick meets Annie’s gaze and she nods, smiling softly. He looks at Clara. “Adrian,” he answers, looking back down at the baby. “Adrian Cresta Odair.”

“Beautiful,” Clara says simply, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. 

“He is beautiful,” Annie breathes. Finnick nods, still overwhelmed with emotion at the tiny life in his arms. Adrian looks up at both of them, his eyes wide for the first time and Finnick wonders what it must be like for him to suddenly be in the big bright world after months of safety inside his mother, if he’s scared too or if he feels safe in their arms.

The nursery has been ready for weeks, but Finnick moves the crib into their bedroom, neither of them wanting to have any distance between them and their son. Annie carefully places Adrian in his crib before lying down on the bed, curling on her side so she can watch him sleep.

“We should sleep,” Annie says, “Clara said the first night is the only time he’ll sleep soundly so we’d better take advantage of it.”

“We should,” Finnick says as he lies beside her, pressing his chest to her back and wrapping an arm gently around her waist.

“But I don’t want to,” Annie whispers, reaching her hand to touch the side of the crib.

Finnick chuckles softly in her ear and presses a soft kiss to her neck. “Me neither,” he agrees.

They settle into a comfortable silence, watching Adrian’s tiny chest rise and fall, counting each breath and each beat of his heart. Finnick still can’t believe his eyes, can’t believe something so small and fragile and perfect can possibly be real. He holds Annie close, breathing in the smell of lavender that lingers on her skin. Gradually, her breathing slows and FInnick can tell when she falls asleep, her hand still resting on the side of the crib.

He knows he should sleep too, knows it’ll be a long time before he has an uninterrupted night’s sleep again, but he can’t bring himself to close his eyes, too afraid that he’ll open them to find this was all a dream. He watches Annie’s eyelashes flutter and feels a rush of gratitude for whatever good fortune brought her into his life all those years ago and kept her there since.

He knows none of this would be possible without her. Not just their family, but himself. This capacity he has for love, the hope burning steadily brighter inside of him, it’s all because of Annie, because she saved him when he didn’t even realize he needed saving. Back then he thought he was the one saving her, but she has always been his lifeline. Now she’s given him this family, this child, someone who will never know who he was before the war, who will only know the man he is becoming now. With a last look at his son’s sleeping face, Finnick closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep, thinking he’s finally starting to understand how it feels to be happy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, deciding to write an Annie/Finnick story: :)  
> Me, realizing that means I have to write about childbirth: *surprised Pikachu face*
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: discussion of past sexual abuse

As word spreads through town about the new arrival, Finnick and Annie have more visitors than ever. Clara comes by once a day to check on them, usually bringing food or herbal remedies for Annie. Silas brings vegetables from his garden. Even District Four locals brave the Victors Village to bring their well-wishes and to offer their help to the new parents. Celeste, who Finnick has known all his life but has never seen within the sight of the village, surprises them with another batch of fish paste and a toy wooden ship she carved herself. 

Finnick is surprised by the stream of visitors - after winning the Games, the people of District Four always gave him a wide berth, smiling and nodding if he was close but then whispering behind their hands as soon as he turned his back. With Annie, they seemed unsure how to act and chose to avoid her as well, as if she was a bomb that could explode if they got too close. He mentions his surprise to Clara one day and she gives him a puzzled look.

“Finnick, they’re trying to thank you,” she says matter-of-factly.

“For what?” He asks, perplexed.

Clara sets down the blanket she’d been folding. “What you did for the rebellion.” She looks at him closely, “without you, they’d still be controlled by the Capitol, sending kids to the Games.” 

“That’s not...” Finnick starts, shaking his head. “That wasn’t me.”

Clara raises her eyebrows. “A lot of it was.”

Finnick bites his lip and looks away. All he did was put people in danger and almost get himself killed. It’s not like he was a mastermind behind the rebels’ plans - most of his time in Thirteen was spent trying not to lose his mind. His most meaningful contribution was detailing his deepest shame to the entire country, and for all he knows that just put a bigger target on anyone connected to him. 

“Finnick,” Clara says gently. “You made a difference for all of these people. For everyone. I think…” she pauses, trying to meet his eyes. “I think they’re finally realizing how much you’ve sacrificed, and they want to give some of that back to you.”

Finnick shifts uncomfortably. Clara seems to sense his discomfort and goes back to the laundry she’s folding. “Besides,” she says lightly, “you have a really cute baby.” She winks at him and picks up laundry basket, then steps past him to go put things away. 

Despite his surprise, Finnick is grateful for the help and he knows Annie is too. It seems like every time he turns around there are more dishes to be washed, more laundry to be cleaned, more diapers to be changed. Neither of them is complaining. They spent so long thinking they could never have this that now they revel in every second, watching breathlessly as their son grows bigger every day.

“Still ten,” Annie announces one day when Finnick arrives home after a trip to town. He drops his bags by the door and sits next to her on the sofa, leaning in to kiss her hello and then pressing a soft kiss to the top of Adrian’s head where he dozes in Annie’s arms.

“What’s that?” Finnick asks, amused.

“Ten fingers,” Annie states, gazing at the baby. “I counted.”

Finnick chuckles and touches his finger to the inside of Adrian’s palm, smiling when his tiny fingers curl around his with a surprisingly strong grip. “Again?” he teases her.

“Please, like you haven’t been putting a mirror in front of his mouth to make sure he’s breathing,” she replies, her eyes twinkling.

“I only did that once,” he protests, before adding quietly, “this week.”

Annie laughs and looks back at their sleeping son. Finnick finds himself wishing time would slow down, afraid things are moving too fast and that one day he won’t remember how small Adrian was when he was born, or the exact feel of his tiny hand closing around Finnick’s finger. He wakes one night to the sound of crying from the nursery and moves to get up, but feels Annie’s hand on his shoulder. 

“I’ve got him,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to his temple before tiptoeing across the hall. He hears her speaking softly to Adrian and pictures her lifting him from his crib and cradling him in her arms, rocking gently from side to side. Finnick tries to settle back into sleep but feels a tug in his heart, a nagging feeling that he might miss something if he’s not with his son at every moment. He quietly rises and moves to the nursery, smiling when he sees Annie sitting in the overstuffed rocking chair, cradling Adiran to her chest. Finnick crosses the room and lowers himself to the floor next to the chair, leaning against the side and looking up at Annie, overwhelmed and awed at how incredible it is to see her taking care of their son. He tries to focus on the moment in front of him but again finds his mind racing, seeing Adrian’s entire life stretching out ahead of them and wanting to capture every second, afraid if he looks away he’ll turn back and his son will be grown and he’ll have missed everything in between.

“You should sleep,” Annie says softly, brushing a hand through his hair. 

“I don’t want to miss anything,” he admits quietly, looking up at Annie.The moonlight illuminates her face and he sees her smile, looking from him to their son in her arms and back.

“I know,” she says, gazing down at Adrian. They stay like that in silence, Finnick watching sleepily as Annie feeds their son, a wave of contentment washing over him as he tries to memorize everything about this moment, from the tired look of wonder on Annie’s face to the happy sounds Adrian makes in his mother’s arms. 

When Adrian starts fussing again Finnick lifts himself off the floor and Annie passes the baby to him, the movement so natural to them now after just a few short months. Finnick holds his son against his chest and walks around the room, rocking him gently and rubbing his back to calm him. He hums absentmindedly and notices Annie watching them sleepily from the rocking chair, a dazed smile on her face. When he feels Adrian settle to sleep in his arms, Finnick softly kisses the side of his head and places him gently in his crib, feeling Annie at his side. 

Finnick puts his arm around Annie’s shoulders and softly kisses the side of her head, both of them watching Adrian’s steady breathing. They stand there for some time, letting the quiet of the night fill the room and Finnick feels more at peace than he’s ever felt. When Annie can’t stifle another yawn, Finnick takes her hand and they go back to their bedroom, stopping in the doorway for another look at their sleeping child. In bed, she curls up next to him and quickly falls asleep, her breath tickling the skin on Finnick’s neck. He watches her, feeling his eyes get heavier, and drifts off to sleep feeling secure in the thought of all the little moments they still have to look forward to.

\--

They call their friends in the other districts to tell them the news. Peeta answers when they call District Twelve and says he’ll tell Katniss and Haymitch (though Finnick doubts Haymitch will be sober enough to remember who he is), then promises to visit when Katniss feels up to it. Johanna reacts to the news in typical Johanna Mason fashion.

“Nice,” she says, sounding distracted, “good for you.” Finnick just shakes his head and shrugs at Annie when he hangs up. She’ll never say it, but he knows Johanna is happy for him. She just has her own way of showing it. He doesn’t think much of it, so busy with their new routine of feeding, burping, changing, sleeping, and cleaning, until one day he opens the front door and comes face to face with a short woman with dark, spiky hair and a smirk on her face. 

“Johanna!” he gasps, pulling her into a hug. “What are you doing here?”

Johanna shrugs. “You said I had a nephew to meet,” she says nonchalantly. “Where is the little thing?”

Finnick laughs. “He’s sleeping, and so is Annie, so keep it down.”

Johanna rolls her eyes and presses a finger to her lips. “Congratulations,” she whispers.

“I was just on my way to town,” he says, “walk with me?”

“Sounds thrilling,” she deadpans. He scoffs and closes the door softly behind him before setting off down the lane, Johanna at his side. As they approach the end of the village, Finnick sees her stiffen at the sight of the ocean. Careful not to startle her, he gently places a hand on her elbow and steers her towards town, away from the water.

“It’s this way,” he says softly. She nods, and he sees her muscles relax as they turn their backs to the water. 

“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?” he asks as they pass through the gate at the end of the village.

“In case I couldn’t do it,” she admits. “After you called I talked to my doctor every day to try and get the guts to come here.”

“Is that why you barely reacted when I told you?” he teases. 

Johanna raises her eyebrows. “If I recall, I said good for you,” she says flatly. 

Finnick laughs, shaking his head. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says softly. Johanna rolls her eyes but he can see that she looks pleased. “Annie will be glad too,” he adds.

“Will she?” Johanna asks bluntly. “I don’t think she likes me much.”

“She likes you,” Finnick says, “it’s just hard for her to remember everything.”

“I know. I hear her screaming in my sleep,” Johanna says darkly before she stops suddenly, clapping her hand over her mouth. “Shit, Finnick, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay,” he says in a pained voice, trying to stop the images that flood his mind of the two of them in the Capitol, brought there because of him, being tortured for information or just to break him down. 

“No,” Johanna says darkly, “it’s not.” They walk in silence for another minute before she speaks quietly. “How is she?”

“She’s better,” Finnick says softly. “Really. There are still bad days, but not as often. And she’s amazing with the baby.”

Johanna smiles but rearranges her face into a bored expression when she catches him looking. “I’m happy for you,” she says, looking straight ahead. Finnick stops in his tracks and stares at her, waiting for her to turn around. She walks a few more paces and then turns, sighing heavily. “What?” she demands.

“You’re happy for me,” he repeats with a grin.

Johanna rolls her eyes. “Don’t make me regret saying it,” she huffs before continuing toward town, leaving Finnick to jog to catch up to her.

\--

_Finnick strides across the room to the bar and orders his drink with a wink to the bartender, whose face flushes as he ogles Finnick. Unphased, Finnick scans the room, feeling like a caged animal looking for a way to wriggle free. His eyes land on a woman he recognizes immediately. She’s dressed like the Capitol, in a skintight silver dress with a plunging neckline and what appear to be actual bubbles cascading over her shoulder and down her back. Her makeup is fierce, turning her already sharp features into razor blades, giving the impression that you’d slice your finger if you tried to stroke her cheek. But he can see in her eyes that she’s like him - desperate to escape._

_The bartender places his drink at his elbow. “No charge,” he says, in what Finnick assumes is his idea of a flirtatious voice. The poor guy, Finnick thinks bitterly. He’d have to work hundreds of shifts to win the bidding war for Finnick Odair’s precious time. “Thank you,” he says, flashing a smile and another wink as he picks up the glass and crosses the room._

_The woman’s back is to him now, giving him a view of the strange bubbles attached to her dress - and they are bubbles, he marvels, their shiny surface reflecting the glow of the party around them as they dance in their own breeze. She must have some stylist._

_“Hello there,” Finnick says in his seductive purr as he comes within earshot, “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.” He places his free hand on her shoulder and she jerks around in one swift movement, clasping his wrist in an iron grip and raising her hand over his head, as if poised to bring down a weapon to deliver a fatal blow. He laughs._

_“Yeah, I should have seen that coming.” It’s the number one rule around those who survived the arena - never sneak up on a victor. He extricates his hand from her grip and pointedly takes a sip from his drink, raising his eyebrows over the lip of the glass._

_“Finnick Odair,” she drawls, “what a surprise.”_

_“Johanna,” he replies playfully, “fancy seeing you here.” Johanna Mason. The victor of last year’s Hunger Games. He’d skipped out on the parties for her Victory Tour, feigning illness to look after Annie. Something about seeing another young woman on a Victory Tour and being expected to play the part of a proud victor snapped in her and put her back in the near-catatonic state she’d been in when she first got out of the arena. It’s customary for all surviving victors to be featured at the celebration in the district, while some of the more popular are invited to the last stop of the Tour in the Capitol, but Annie broke down before Johanna’s train even arrived. She was conspicuously absent for the ceremony and the party, and Finnick only showed his face for appetizers and a brief introduction to the newest victor, then made a show of pretending he ate bad fish before ducking out to sit with Annie on the beach. With all of that, he’d yet to actually talk to Johanna Mason, the cunning young woman who played frail and innocent so convincingly that even he believed it, until she got her hands on an axe and single handedly took out each remaining competitor to be crowned the winner._

_“Quite the outfit,” he remarks, gesturing to her dress._

_“You’re one to talk,” she retorts. He glances down at his outfit, if one could even call it that. His stylist is sticking with the fishing motif and tonight is no exception. His bare chest is draped with a golden net and his prep team painstakingly painted their version of glittering fish scales along his neck and across one shoulder. At least this time he gets to wear pants, though they are so tight he can’t sit down._

_“Point taken,” he concedes, raising his glass to take another swig._

_“Don’t you have some rich people to scam with your boring personality?” she challenges._

_“We just met,” he says, offended, “what makes you think I’m boring?”_

_“Well, you’re here. That doesn’t say much to your character,” she says sarcastically._

_“You’re here too.”_

_“Don’t want to be.”_

_“Me neither.” He meets her gaze and sees a flicker of recognition in her eyes._

_“Let’s go then,” she says, finishing off her drink and slamming the glass down on a nearby table._

_“All right,” he answers nonchalantly, taking a slow sip to drain the last of his drink before placing his glass next to hers. He leads her to the door and the crowd parts as they pass, everyone trying to get a glimpse of the two victors leaving together. As soon as they’re out the door, Johanna huffs out a loud sigh._

_“Where are we going?” Finnick asks lightly._

_“Why should I know, golden boy?” she retorts, “you’re the expert in the Capitol.”_

_“It was your idea to leave,” he points out, prompting Johanna to scowl at him. “I know a place,” he concedes, “come on.”_

_He leads her out onto the street and they walk a few short blocks, both pretending to ignore the curious glances thrown their way and the gleeful shouts when they are inevitably recognized. He stops in front of the building and she lets out a sharp, humorless laugh._

_“Are you kidding?” she asks incredulously, “the Tribute Center? You are like, asking me to murder you.”_

_“Just trust me,” he replies, moving through the revolving doors and gesturing for her to follow. Johanna looks like she’d rather do anything else, but takes a deep breath and follows behind him. He leads her to the elevator and graciously bows to let her step on first, then presses the button for the top floor. They watch the lobby shrink below them and don’t speak until the doors open onto the darkened twelfth floor. “This way,” Finnick says, walking to the left instead of straight ahead through the double doors that would take them into the tributes’ quarters._

_“Oh my god,” Johanna deadpans. “You’re going to murder me.”_

_Finnick laughs and stops in front of a door at the end of the hall that almost completely blends in with the wall around it, like it’s meant to go unnoticed. Finnick tries the handle and looks back at Johanna with a grin, dimples flashing. “After you,” he says, opening the door and gesturing grandly for her to climb the stairs behind it._

_She steps around him, a suspicious look in her eye, and cranes her next to look to the top of the staircase. Seemingly satisfied by her observation, she climbs, gathering the shimmering fabric of her dress to avoid tripping. Finnick follows a few steps behind and they emerge onto the roof of the Tribute Center, filled with flowers and garden ornaments that twinkle in the wind. Finnick feels a pang in his heart as he thinks of the windchimes Annie hung from her porch in the Victor’s Village. He’s taken to leaving his windows open at night so he can hear their melodic chimes, comforted by the way they break up the suffocating silence of his empty house. He forces himself to stop thinking about Annie._

_“Why are we here?” Johanna asks._

_“It’s the most private place in the Capitol,” Finnick says meaningfully, raising his eyebrows and hoping Johanna understands that they can speak freely here. No bugs or cameras can pick anything up over the garden noise. “Haymitch showed me,” he continues, closing the door behind them._

_“Haymitch?” she asks with a quizzical look._

_“Abernathy. District Twelve?”_

_“The drunk?” She scoffs. “I guess we’ll all end up like that sooner or later. Drunk, drugged, or dead. Or crazy," she muses._

_“Don’t say that,” he says sharply._

_“Come on, he’s been doing this for what, twenty years? He’s alive. That’s a miracle.” Johanna plucks a flower from the bush in front of her and begins to methodically tear off the petals and throw them to the ground one by one. “When did it start for you?” she asks, not looking up from the petals at her feet._

_Finnick inhales a sharp breath. He doesn’t need to ask what she’s talking about. “My sixteenth birthday,” he answers honestly. “The Capitol threw me a party. The party of the year, apparently, but I don’t remember much of it.” He grimaces. “I remember being really drunk. Snow introduced me to a woman who he said sponsored me in the Games and told me to thank her.” His face twists in a grimace as he remembers the uneasy feeling in his gut when Snow made the introduction, the way the woman ran her eyes up and down his body and smiled at him with too-white teeth. After a while he learned to detach himself, learned to leave his body behind and float away like he wasn’t really there, but that first time he felt everything. She had been gentle, not like some of the others who came later who were all rough hands and teeth. He’s still not sure which version he hates more._

_He’s never told anyone about the first time. Mags had guessed what happened, he thinks. She didn’t say anything, not exactly, but she didn’t let him out of her sight for days after he came home from that trip, always asking for his help fixing things around her house. After a few days of it, he started to get a suspicion that she was breaking things on purpose so she could have an excuse to keep a close eye on him, but he appreciated her attention._

_And now Annie - they’ve been talking more, about a lot of things, but he won’t tell her what he’s really doing when he goes to the Capitol. For some reason it matters to him what Annie thinks and he can’t bear the thought of her looking at him with disgust, knowing that he lets his body be used every time he goes away. The voice in the back of his mind reminds him again that he shouldn’t care what Annie thinks of him and maybe it would be better if she knew, so she would see who he really is and have nothing to do with him. Finnick looks over at Johanna, who is watching him silently with an unreadable expression. He suddenly feels compelled to ask about her life after the Games, desperate to confirm that he’s not the only one Snow offers up to the highest bidder._

_“When did it start for you?” he repeats her question back to her, trying to mask the rising bile in his throat._

_Johanna grimaces. “The last night of my Victory Tour.” She lets out another humorless laugh. “I was supposed to go meet some guy in a hotel room. I said no. Got home to Seven the next day and found out my perfectly healthy mother had died suddenly the night before. Learned my lesson and didn’t say no the next time.”_

_Her words hang heavy between them. Finnick looks at Johanna, the harsh makeup on her face not enough to hide the vulnerability in her eyes. She’s just like him. Lost, looking for something to hold onto, something to pull her back from the brink. She looks at him steadily and he wonders what she sees in his eyes, if she can see how much he’s lost and how much effort it takes to keep himself from falling apart._

_“Well,” she says suddenly, turning away and walking toward the edge of the roof, “that got fucking dark.”_

_He laughs, startled. If there is one thing he’s already learned about Johanna Mason, it’s that she is unpredictable. “Expecting something different?” he asks, sitting on a stone wall and leaning back, flashing her a smile._

_“Oh yeah,” she deadpans, “I expected to be swept off my feet by Finnick Odair.” She says it with no malice, not like the partygoers who consider themselves entitled to his time and charm, who will complain and make his life more difficult if he doesn’t rise to their expectations. Something has shifted since they came onto the roof and Finnick suddenly feels like he’s known Johanna for a long time, their shared pain enough to make him trust her completely._

_He shrugs lazily. “It could still happen. I’ve got time.”_

_She moves to sit next to him. “I don’t know about being swept off my feet,” she says, “but I’m down to have a little fun if you are.”_

_“Yeah?” He asks, sitting up straighter and arching an eyebrow at her._

_“You said it yourself, this is the most private place in the Capitol.”_

_Finnick considers Johanna’s words and feels a flash of guilt. Does she think that’s why he brought her up here? To treat her the same way the people of the Capitol do?_

_“Johanna,” he starts, “You don’t have to-” He clears his throat. “That’s not why I brought you here.”_

_Johanna watches him with an amused expression. “I know,” she says. “Don’t get all tortured on me, I know what I’m doing.”_

_He chuckles softly._

_“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” she continues with a shrug, “we can just be two people who get along and have fun together.”_

_Finnick watches her. She is beautiful, there’s no denying that, even if she is a little intimidating. But he likes that about her. He likes Johanna, enjoys her company, and he realizes he wants this. Right now, he wants this connection with Johanna, someone who understands what he’s gone through more than anyone in the Capitol ever could. With a brief twinge of guilt, he thinks of Annie on the beach, hands pressed to her ears as she shakes with the memories that never seem to leave her. He pushes the image from his mind. He is Annie’s mentor, nothing more. He can’t be anything more._

_He looks back at Johanna, a grin playing on his lips. “What sort of fun did you have in mind?”_

\--

“I can’t believe you’re a father,” Johanna says, watching Annie make silly faces at Adrian as he babbles incoherently. Finnick tears his eyes from his wife and son to glance at Johanna and nod. “I know,” he agrees. They’re sitting at the kitchen table as Annie plays with Adrian on a blanket they laid out in the living room, her musical laughter floating through the house.

“How does it feel?” she asks.

Finnick looks at his little family again and pauses, contemplating Johanna’s question. “Terrifying,” he answers honestly.

Johanna lets out a quiet laugh and looks at him. “Who would’ve thought a normal life would be the scariest thing after all that?”

Finnick chuckles faintly and runs his hand through his hair. “It’s just,” he starts, frowning as he tries to put his thoughts into words. “After all that… How can I do this?” Johanna tilts her head, questioning. “I want to protect him, but… I’m terrified that I won’t be able to protect him from who I am. And what I’ve done.”

Johanna shakes her head. “Finnick, you’ve done no worse than the rest of us.”

“Annie hasn’t killed anyone,” he mumbles quietly.

“You know she doesn’t see it that way,” Johanna counters. “We all have blood on our hands. You did what you had to do to survive.”

“But the thing is,” he presses his face in his hands and then sits up straight, waving his hands as he speaks, “I don’t want him to understand why we had to do all that, you know? I want him to be completely unfamiliar with the idea of hurting other people just to survive. But then if that happens, he can’t understand why I did what I did. What if, when he’s older, he learns about the Games in school, right?” Finnick feels the words tumbling out of his mouth. “And he comes home and says he can’t believe anyone would ever think killing is okay. What do I do then? When he finds out what a…” he hesitates, then spits out his next words, “what a monster his father is.”

Johanna takes a deep breath and lets it out in a low whistle. “Are you done?” she asks conversationally, arching an eyebrow at him. Finnick gapes at her, at a loss for words.

“Seems like you’re done,” she continues. “Okay, so, none of that is going to happen.” Finnick starts to protest and she places her hand over his mouth to cut him off. “First of all, no way you’re letting that kid learn about the Games in school. I know you two. You’re all about talking about feelings and your pasts and how much you love each other so that’s definitely going to come up.” Finnick licks her hand and she yelps and takes it back, then presses on before he can speak.

“Secondly,” she continues with a glare, “he can still understand what you did. My doctor calls it empathy - and apparently he seems to think I’m lacking it, but he’s full of shit. So yeah, you can hope he never has to make the choices you did. But I know you, and I know you’ll raise a kid who can understand the sacrifices his parents made to stay alive and to find each other and to bring him into the world.”

Finnick stills and tries to absorb Johanna’s words into his mind. “My dad was my favorite person,” he says quietly. “I never doubted that he was a good person, that he would always do the right thing.” He looks at Adrian, now cradled in Annie’s lap as she reads to him from an old book they found in Mags’s house. “I want him to think that way about me.”

“Finnick, I hate to break it to you, but you are a good person,” Johanna says with a hint of a smile. He starts to protest, but she cuts him off. “When it matters, you’re good. That night we met, you saved me. I was this close to breaking a glass over the head of the next person who tried to whisper in my ear all about how much they loved me.”

“Jo, I was trying to deal with my own shit and just pulled you into it,” he says, pained. That night they met, he had been running from the feelings he had for Annie that were getting harder to ignore every day. He had almost welcomed the summons to the Capitol, if only as a reminder of why he and Annie could never be together. And then Johanna was there, and he could talk freely with her, and she made him laugh, and it was uncomplicated. But it was only an escape. 

“You can tell yourself that. But I’m telling you, you did a good thing for me,” she insists, her dark eyes boring into his. Finnick doesn’t answer, just runs his fingers over the wood of the table.

“If you can’t see it yourself, maybe just trust that the people you care about know what we’re talking about,” Johanna says, throwing her hands up in exasperation. He looks at her, confused, and she rolls her eyes. 

“Finnick, has Annie ever lied to you?” Johanna says slowly.

He shakes his head. 

“Exactly. She wouldn’t lie to you, and you know it. And I wouldn’t either. So if we’re saying you’re good and that kid is lucky to have you, maybe you should believe it,” she finishes with a shrug.

Finnick looks over at Annie and Adrian playing in the living room. Johanna wouldn’t lie to him - sometimes he wishes she would, but her thoughts are always unfiltered, for better or for worse. He knows Annie wouldn’t lie to him either, Johanna is right about that. And she does tell him all the time that he’s a good person, someone she is proud to know. He doesn’t know why it’s still so hard for him to believe.

It feels good to talk to Johanna about this. Annie understands, she does, but her experience in the arena was much different than his. He knows she still feels responsible for the tributes who died before her and he would never say he had it worse than her, but Johanna knows how it feels to directly take a life. She saw that side of him up close, in the arena, watched him aim to kill without hesitation, and he saw the same from her. It’s a strange bond they have, one formed all those years ago when they stole away from that party, cemented by seeing each other’s deepest shames and never judging how they cope with it. He shoots Johanna a look and grins.

“You’re being so nice to me, Jo,” he teases. “I should tell you all my deepest fears more often.”

“Please don’t,” she replies bluntly. “This is a one time pep talk.” 

“Whatever you say,” Finnick says airily, looking at her with a smirk. He nudges her with his foot and meets her eyes. “Seriously, Jo, thank you.” Johanna rolls her eyes and looks away, but he knows her well enough to see that she’s pleased.

At that moment, Annie swoops in with Adrian and deposits him in Finnick’s arms, giving Finnick a kiss as she passes. “Someone wanted to play with his dad,” she says, kissing the top of Adrian’s head before going to prepare dinner. 

“Hi little one,” Finnick gushes, holding Adrian on his lap. “Say hi to your Aunt Jo,” he adds, gently waving one of Adrian’s hands in Johanna’s direction. He watches Johanna fight back a smile and shakes his head. “You can admit he’s cute,” he tells her airily.

“Fishing for compliments is not cute,” Johanna responds, but she holds out her hand to Adrian and her face lights up when he wraps his fingers around hers. She bounces his hand up and down and leans in close. “It’s very nice to meet you,” she whispers, a soft smile on her face that Finnick is sure he’s never seen before. “Even if your father is a pain.” Finnick laughs and bounces his son on his lap while Johanna makes faces at him, and later when they sit down to dinner he pretends not to see Johanna wiping at her eyes, a genuine smile on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close to the end, I can't believe it! Thanks for reading :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had such writer's block for this chapter and then I wrote like 2,000 words in one sitting. I'm still a little unsure of it but I hope you enjoy! Also, see the end notes for a surprise.

Finnick gets home from fishing to find Clara and Annie at the kitchen table, laughing over cups of tea. He goes to the sink to wash his hands, cleaning off the grime from his day on the water, before pulling out the chair next to Annie and sitting down, his muscles aching from a hard day’s work.

“Good day?” Annie asks, pushing a plate of fresh bread towards him.

“Very,” he responds, picking up a roll and taking a bite, chewing slowly. “Weather was perfect but Celeste thinks we're in for some storms," he says, shrugging. "What are you two up to?” he asks, looking between Annie and Clara.

“I just came by to tell you both some news,” Clara says, twisting her hands nervously. Finnick raises his eyebrows. “Katniss and Peeta are coming to visit,” she announces, laying her hands flat on the table to steady them.

“Really?” Finnick asks.

Clara nods. “Next week,” she says. “It sounds like they’re both ready. And I thought it would be better if they came here, instead of…” she trails off, her eyes watering. Finnick nods, remembering how cold and painful his return home was after his brother’s death. He can’t imagine what going back to Twelve would mean for Clara, what ghosts she would find there. For a second he considers how he would feel if he lost his son, but he has to push the thought out of his mind, too terrified to even think of it. 

“Annie and I were talking,” Clara continues, “and I wanted to ask you a favor, Finnick.”

“Of course,” Finnick answers. He can’t imagine there’s anything Clara could ask him that he wouldn’t be willing to do for her, after all she’s helped them. 

“I was hoping you might talk to Katniss,” Clara says carefully. “She trusts you. And I know there are things she’s going through that I can’t understand.” Finnick isn’t sure he’s in a strong position to give someone else advice, and he almost says so before he catches Annie’s eye. She raises her eyebrows and gives him a small smile, as if she knows he is about to doubt himself.

“Sure,” he says, not completely confident. “I’ll talk to her.” He realizes with a jolt that he hasn’t actually spoken to Katniss since they were hiding out in the tunnel systems below the Capitol - she was still barely speaking by the time he and Annie came home and is never the one to answer the phone when they call, leaving Finnick to get updates from Peeta. He’s known so many different versions of her - the standoffish tribute in a tentative alliance with him in the arena, the empty shell of a girl trying to hold it together while the person she loved was being tortured to spite her, the woman with nothing left to lose leading them into battle. He doesn’t know who she is now, after everything. 

“Thank you,” Clara says, exchanging a glance with Annie. “I worry about her,” she adds quietly. Finnick nods, suddenly feeling a lump in his throat as he thinks about what she’s been through, from losing her husband, to almost losing Katniss to the Games not once but twice, and then, when it was all almost over, losing Prim so suddenly. They all carry so much pain around every day, it’s a wonder anyone is still standing. 

“She’ll be all right,” Annie whispers, squeezing Clara’s hand. Clara smiles sadly and wipes at her eyes, laughing a little as she does.

“Look at me,” she says, shaking her head and blinking back tears before looking between Finnick and Annie. “Thank you both,” she adds sincerely before finishing her tea and standing. “I should be going, I’m on the night shift tonight,” she says, reaching out to give Annie a hug.

“We’ll see you tomorrow for dinner, right?” Annie asks, smiling up at her.

“Of course,” Clara answers, giving a wave as she heads for the door. “Thanks for tea,” she calls, and Finnick hears the door swing shut behind her. Annie stands and brings their teacups to the sink and Finnick follows, putting his arms around her and trailing kisses down her neck.

“Hi,” she giggles, turning to face him and wrap her arms around his neck.

“Hi,” Finnick responds, amused. “Is he asleep?” he asks, nodding his head toward the nursery.

Annie nods. “I just put him down before you got home,” she says, “he was showing off for Clara, kept throwing toys on the floor so she would pick them up.”

Finnick laughs. Their son recently learned how to pick things up and, more importantly, how entertaining it is to drop things and have the adults around him hand them back only for him to drop them again. It’s a game they play, one that amuses Adrian to no end, and Finnick and Annie will do anything for his amusement.

“I can't believe they're really coming here,” Annie remarks. “It will be good for Clara.”

“Are you okay with seeing them?” Finnick asks. They’ve both been doing better since coming home, the distance between them and the Capitol slowly healing some of the wounds they’ve suffered over time. He worries about her seeing Peeta, if that will bring back the memories of the Capitol that she’s worked to put behind her. She had been okay when Johanna visited, but she and Johanna had spent more time together in Thirteen when the others went to fight in the Capitol, so there were other memories to fall back on. With Katniss - and Peeta especially - he worries it will be too much.

Annie brushes her hand through his hair, smiling softly. “I am,” she says thoughtfully. “And I know you’ll be there if I’m not.”

Finnick smiles and leans in to kiss her, feeling her hand twist in the curls at the base of his neck. She pulls away and laughs, pushing his hair out of his face.

“I’ve never seen your hair this long,” she teases, running her hands through it. 

Finnick laughs. “They would always make me cut it,” he says with a shrug. “More fashionable.” There were so many rules for his appearance when he was in the Capitol, trends to keep up with, a certain image to maintain. His hair had to be a certain way, meticulously arranged to look messy and carefree. He would spend hours training to keep his body in shape, hating every second of it. He had always been an active kid, something that comes naturally when you’re the son of a fisherman, but his activity needed to have a purpose. Hauling nets, climbing sails, swimming to set lobster traps, those things he enjoyed. But training in a closed room, lifting weights and running on a machine, it never made sense to him. It feels good now, not having all that pressure to mold himself into that fake version of himself. He likes being able to feel the wind in his hair when he’s out on the water, likes feeling the strain in his muscles from hauling in a particularly full net rather than lifting too many weights. 

Annie tilts her head to the side and appraises him, her hand coming to rest on his cheek. “I like it,” she announces, leaning in to kiss him again.

Finnick returns the kiss, then pulls back and narrows his eyes at her. “You have to say that,” he says lightly. “You’re my wife.” He tickles her side where his hand rests at her waist, his heart leaping at the sound of her laughter.

“Good thing it’s true,” she says, her eyes twinkling. Finnick grins and pulls her closer, feeling almost giddy that they have nowhere to be, no letters from the Capitol coming to pull him away, nothing to do besides enjoy each other’s company while their son sleeps peacefully in the next room. 

\--

_ Finnick’s head spins from the lights and music and he barely registers the conversation around him until he hears mention of the Quarter Quell. He tries to focus on the chatter around him, in case anyone lets slip something useful. _

_ “Oh, I hope you get chosen again,” one woman squeals, clapping her hands. The brightly colored makeup on her face makes her eyes look like they’re bulging out of their sockets. “I loved watching your Games.” _

_ “Yours was the best,” her friend gushes, laying her jewelry covered hand on Finnick’s arm, digging into his skin with her painted fingernails. “Sometimes I watch it again and I still get the same thrill!” _

_ Finnick clenches his fists to stop his hands from shaking and nods stiffly as the two women start comparing notes on their favorite moments from his Games. He tunes out again, not wanting to hear their analysis. Was it the time he snuck up behind the tribute from District Eight and stabbed him through the heart, killing him so quickly he never saw who delivered the fatal blow? Or how about when he took out the girl from Five, the one that had helped him smooth the wrinkles in his suit while they waited for their interviews? _

_ He feels bile rising in his throat and stands abruptly, muttering an excuse about needing some air as he pushes through the throng of partygoers until he finds an empty room - it looks to be some kind of study, complete with shelves of leather bound books and a gilded cart filled with booze in sparkling glass bottles. He closes the door behind him to shut out the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses and leans against the dark wood, trying to slow his breathing. Before he can pull himself together, he feels the door being pushed open and he jumps as he comes face to face with Plutarch Heavensbee, rebel leader and now architect of his imminent death. Plutarch closes the door and turns the lock, his eyes sweeping around the room. _

_ “Sorry to startle you,” Plutarch says, “I saw you come in here and thought we could talk.” He shoots Finnick a meaningful look as he crosses to a music player in the corner and turns it on, keeping his voice low. “How are you, Finnick?” _

_ “You here to ask me to volunteer?” Finnick asks, struggling to keep his voice steady. He doesn’t have time for niceties.  _

_ “You won’t need to,” Plutarch says meaningfully. _

_ Finnick understands what the Gamemaker is saying and nods, grimacing. “I don’t get a choice here?” _

_ “Finnick, we have the best chance of keeping you alive if you’re in the arena. We can’t promise anything if you’re a mentor, or back in Four,” Plutarch explains in a hushed tone. "And we need you in there to protect Katniss." _

_ “Somehow, I don’t find that comforting,” Finnick replies sarcastically, turning away. _

_ “There’s something else we need to talk about,” Plutarch continues, and Finnick can hear the hesitation in his voice. Finnick turns, wondering what else they could possibly need to talk about. He got the message. He’s going back in the arena, no matter what. He has to protect the Mockingjay, keep her alive at all costs, even if it means giving up his own life. Never mind that he has people he cares about, things he wants. He’s still just another piece in the games. As if he can read Finnick’s thoughts, Plutarch looks away, his normally confident demeanor slipping for a minute to reveal a nervous expression. _

_ “Finnick,” he starts, “if Annie is in the arena-” _

_ “Don’t finish that sentence,” Finnick snaps. He can’t even entertain that thought without feeling like he’s going to collapse where he stands. Annie can’t be sent back to the Games. It would destroy both of them. _

_ “If she’s in the area, we’ll try to get her out. We want to get as many of you out alive as we can,” Plutarch speaks over him in what Finnick is sure he thinks is a reassuring tone.  _

_ “She won’t be in the arena,” Finnick says numbly. It’s the mantra he’s been repeating since the dust settled from the Quarter Quell announcement, as if repeating it will make it true. “Plutarch, I can’t,” he whispers desperately. “If Annie is there… If it came down to her or Katniss, you know what my choice would be.” He searches Plutarch’s face for some sign that the other man knows how serious he is. _

_ “I can’t promise her name won’t be called,” Plutarch says carefully. _

_ "But you can promise mine will be?" Finnick spits. _

_ Plutarch shakes his head. “I can make a believable excuse for fixing your name. You’re good television. People will want to see you, so we’re doing what we can to make sure we have a good show. I can’t make the same case for any of the female victors from your district.” Finnick gapes at him, trying to control the anger he feels at how unfair the whole situation is. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He was supposed to be a mentor, watching brand new tributes in the arena as the rebels worked behind the scenes to take down the Games, not here begging a Gamemaker to spare Annie from the reaping. Plutarch must see something in Finnick’s expression because he averts his gaze, looking ashamed. _

_ “I’m sorry,” he says, and Finnick can tell he means it. The silence hangs heavy between them and Finnick takes a deep breath. _

_ “Well that’s it then,” Finnick says quietly, “Operation Mockingjay is in motion.” _

_ Plutarch nods, watching him closely. Finnick rubs his hand over his eyes, feeling a headache coming on and suddenly desperate for his bed. He stands, picking up the nearest bottle of liquor he can find. _

_ “If you’ll excuse me,” Finnick says, uncorking the bottle with his teeth, “I’m going to go get drunk and think about my impending death.” Plutarch doesn’t respond, just moves aside to let Finnick pass. When he reaches the doorway, Finnick stops and turns back to face him. _

_ “Just tell me this, Plutarch,” he says, “is she worth it?” He still hasn’t even met Katniss, and yet he’s just agreed to lay down his life for her when the time comes. _

_ “She is,” he answers simply. _

_ Finnick nods and turns on his heel, taking a swig from the bottle in his hand and feeling the liquid sting in his chest, hoping it will bury the feeling of his heart breaking. The next morning he takes the train back to District Four, staring blankly out the window as he considers that this is his last return trip from the Capitol. The next time he gets on this train, it’s a one way ticket. _

_ For the next month, he spends as much time with Annie as he can. They walk on the beach collecting seashells and splashing each other with the ocean spray before collapsing in a fit of laughter in the sand. As the nights get warmer they bring a blanket to the old dock and look up at the stars in silence, holding each other and thinking about how small they are under this sky. They have dinner with Mags and she watches him with a sad expression when she thinks he isn’t looking. Finnick tries to push his fears aside to focus on his time with Annie, unwilling to waste any of his time with her worrying about the rebellion.  _

_ The night before the reaping, neither of them can sit still. Finnick makes dinner as if it’s a normal night and it takes all of his strength to stop his hands from shaking. Annie watches him silently, her eyes wide, and Finnick knows she sees right through him. When she moves to clear the table, a plate slips from her hands and shatters at her feet, the sound echoing through the room. They both kneel down to pick up the pieces and when they lock eyes Finnick can’t stop himself and he takes Annie’s face in his hands and kisses her, pouring all of the words he can’t say into the kiss. Leaving the shattered plate behind, they crash toward their bedroom, not speaking as they shed their clothes, desperate to be close to each other. Finnick tries to memorize every touch, every breath, every inch of Annie’s skin, her hair, her eyes, her lips. He wonders if she is doing the same, if she knows this is the last time. _

_ After, they hold each other and lay in silence, the words they both want to say too heavy to speak. Finnick hates keeping secrets from her, hates that she might still have a sliver of hope that his name won’t be on that slip tomorrow, that he won’t be back in the arena. He doesn’t know what’s worse - having hope or having none. But then he thinks she must know, must see it in his face when he looks at her as if he’s committing her face to memory, must see it in the way he never leaves her side and won’t let go of her hand. _

_ He knows what tomorrow will bring. His name will be called, he’ll go to the Capitol, and he’ll leave Annie behind. He’ll try his best to protect Katniss and keep the Mockingjay alive, keep the rebellion strong, so some day Annie can have the future she deserves. He doesn’t know yet if Katniss is really worth it, but he is certain Annie is. _

\--

Katniss and Peeta arrive in District Four the day after an early summer storm, a warm breeze blowing away the last of the storm clouds as the sun reappears and glistens off the lingering puddles. Clara invites Finnick and Annie over to greet them, and Finnick thinks she wants them there as a sort of buffer, worried that she won’t know how to interact with her eldest daughter after all this time.

When Finnick and Annie walk up to Mags’s - Clara’s, Finnick corrects himself - house, he notices some of last night’s rain pooled on the roof of the porch, gathering in the gutter but seeming unable to drain.

“I should fix that,” he says to Annie, nodding up at the clog. 

“Later,” she says absentmindedly, trying to coax a sleepy Adrian awake in her arms. 

They knock on the door and Clara opens it immediately, as if she’d been waiting with her hand on the knob. She smiles and gestures them inside, nodding towards the living room. Finnick follows Annie in and sees Peeta first, standing by the fireplace looking at Mags’s photographs that Clara had left on the mantle. He looks healthier, Finnick thinks, the circles under his eyes no longer a dark purple, his skin losing the skeletal appearance it had taken on during his time in the Capitol. Finnick looks in his blue eyes, looking for the wild, confused look they had all gotten used to in Thirteen, the look of someone tortured by his own thoughts, unable to trust his own perception, but sees none of that. He simply looks tired, weary, like someone who had to grow up too fast and was still reeling from the change. Peeta nods at him and Annie, smiling slightly, and glances to the woman sitting on the couch, her back to the door.

Katniss turns and Finnick feels a pang in his chest as he recognizes the pain still reflected in her eyes. Her hair hangs limply over her shoulders, instead of in its usual braid, and she has the same tired look as Peeta, as if the years of fighting have finally caught up to her and it’s taking all of her energy just to sit up and look at him.

Finnick hesitates, unsure of what to say, when he is saved by Adrian, who breaks the silence with a loud yawn as he stirs awake in Annie’s arms, his eyes focusing on the room around him. Finnick smiles and gestures to the visitors.

“Katniss, Peeta, this is Adrian,” Finnick introduces them, leaning close to Annie. He takes one of Adrian’s hands in his and waves at the other two. Peeta grins at him and leans in to shake the baby’s hand, laughing when Adrian starts babbling at him.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Peeta says, glancing at Katniss where she sits wide-eyed, as if unsure how to interact with all of them. Clara appears next to Annie and Katniss straightens, her expression slipping into a mask that Finnick imagines she’s worn around her mother for so long it seems second nature to her, hiding her weariness so smoothly that Finnick second guesses if it was ever there in the first place.

Peeta starts asking questions about the baby and life in District Four, which Annie and Clara answer until the room is filled with their conversation. He notices the conversation stays far away from the war, District Twelve, or how Katniss is really doing. Katniss stands to join them, focusing on Adrian and smiling slightly when he kicks his feet at her. She makes faces at him, seeming content to interact with the only person in the room who doesn’t know who she is or what she’s been through. Clara seems to notice - Finnick sees that her smile isn’t reaching her eyes, can see the tension in her shoulders as she watches her daughter avoid her eyes. He feels a flash of pain for her, knowing how difficult it’s been for her to be separated from Katniss and how anxious she’s been about being reunited. Finnick exchanges a glance with Annie and sees the concern he feels reflected in her eyes as she watches Clara.

“Have you been to the water yet?” Annie asks softly, directing her question at Katniss.

“No,” Peeta answers, “just saw it from the window of the train.” 

“Why don’t you all go?” Clara suggests, shooting Annie a grateful smile. “I’ll get dinner ready.”

Katniss shrugs and steals a glance at her mother, looking away quickly as Clara’s smile falters slightly. Annie hands Adrian to Finnick and leans in to whisper in his ear. “You go ahead,” she says, nodding toward Clara, “I’ll catch up.”

Finnick nods and leads Peeta and Katniss out the door, down the steps, and toward the water. Last night’s storm has completely cleared now and they’re met with a warm breeze, the kind that always made Finnick beg his father to let him skip school and go out on the water with him. Adrian babbles as they walk, wide awake now and filled with energy that grows the closer they get to the beach. Annie catches up to them and Adrian claps his hands, reaching for his mother when she leans in to give him a kiss. 

When they get to the beach, Annie takes Adrian from Finnick and leans in close. “I’ll take him,” she whispers in his ear. “Talk to her.” She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek and walks away, shooting Katniss a small smile as she passes. 

“Do you want to go to the water?” Peeta asks Katniss softly. She stands still, looking at the vast expanse of ocean in front of her, and shakes her head.

“I think I just want to sit,” she says. “Tired from the train,” she adds, averting her eyes. Peeta hesitates and glances at Finnick, who meets his eye and nods slightly, trying to reassure Peeta that he’ll look out for her. He wonders if Clara got to Peeta too and told him about her idea for Finnick to talk to Katniss, because he seems satisfied and turns to follow Annie and Adrian down to the water.

Finnick gestures to a cluster of rocks dotting the sand and leads Katniss to a large flat stone, sitting carefully and looking out over the water as she takes a seat next to him. She twists her fingers in her lap and watches Annie carry Adrian to the water’s edge, Peeta close behind her.

“Can he walk yet?” Katniss asks, nodding toward Annie and the baby.

“Katniss, he’s seven months old,” Finnick answers, chuckling.

“So… No?” she guesses. He cracks up at the confusion on her face, earning himself a smack in the arm.

“Nobody likes a know-it-all, Finnick,” she grumbles.

He leans in to whisper in his ear in his old seductive purr, “on the contrary, I think you’ll find everyone loves me.” He winks. When he sits up straight again, he notices the way Katniss’s eyes linger on the light pink scar on his neck, one of the only visible remnants of the war. She catches his eye and averts her gaze, staring at the horizon with a blank expression. He doesn’t say anything, just waits for her to speak.

“Does it hurt?” she asks suddenly, turning back to look at him and gesturing to his neck.

He shakes his head. “No,” he answers. “Not for a while.”

She bites her lip, looking like she has more to say, and Finnick waits patiently. “I shouldn’t have left you behind,” she blurts, ducking her head as if she’s afraid of what she’ll see when she looks at him.

“Katniss, it’s okay. I told you to go,” he says gently. “It doesn’t matter now. I’m here, I’m alive, that’s all that matters.”

“How are you doing it?” Katniss asks. He just looks at her, puzzled, unsure of what she means. “Doesn’t this all scare you?” she prompts, gesturing toward the shoreline where Annie holds Adrian.

“Of course it does,” Finnick chuckles, “it’s terrifying.”

“So, how do you do it?” she repeats. Finnick looks at her, a small smile on his lips.

“Every day, I wake up,” he starts, “and I see Annie next to me, or I hear Adrian in the nursery, and it hits me that this is what I went through all of that for. It’s one last act of rebellion, to live the life they never wanted me to have.”

The wind carries the sound of Adrian’s giggles over to them and Finnick feels his heart swell in his chest. After all this time, all the ways the Capitol tried to keep him and Annie apart, tried to keep him under their control, he gets to spend every day with his wife and their son, no longer looking over their shoulder every second, trying to make the most of the little time they had before he was called away. 

“Well, if it’s that easy,” Katniss grumbles, hugging her knees closer to her chest.

Finnick laughs and then stops himself when he sees her offended expression. “It’s not easy,” he says, chuckling. “We both still have bad days, but we help each other through them. We’ve had a lot of practice,” he adds darkly. He sees Katniss watching him. “All the time I was with her, I was putting her in danger. We never thought we’d get to be together, never thought we could have a family. And now we can. It’s terrifying, but we’re building a life together. We can be happy now.”

“You deserve it,” she says seriously.

“So do you,” he replies, nudging her shoulder with his own. She grimaces and turns away, bringing her knees to her chest and resting her chin on them as if she’s trying to shrink herself. They sit in silence again and Finnick watches Annie dip Adrian’s toes in the water as he kicks his feet, sending splashes up around them. Peeta stands off to the side, looking much less comfortable in the water. Finnick glances at Katniss and sees she’s watching them too, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“Why should I get to move on with my life when Prim doesn’t?” she asks in a pained voice, still not looking at him. Finnick watches her and is reminded of himself, years ago, coming home from the Capitol to an empty house, seeing the ghost of his brother everywhere. Every day he saw things that reminded him of Adrian, reminders of the life he would never have, that it was Finnick’s fault he was gone. He sees the same pain reflected in Katniss’s eyes, the same guilt, the feeling that living your life and trying to be happy is an insult to their memory.

“Katniss, moving on doesn’t mean forgetting what's behind,” he says gently. “You deserve to be happy.”

“No,” she whispers, “I don’t.” Finnick wonders if this is what Clara was getting at, how she thought he’d be able to help Katniss. He knows what it’s like to lose the one person who meant the most to you and to be unable to shake the feeling that it was all your fault.

“You know, I had a brother,” he says softly. He waits for his words to register with Katniss and she turns her head slowly to look at him, brow creased in confusion.

“I didn’t know,” she replies.

Finnick feels a pang in his chest the way he always does when he remembers how many people in his life will never get to know Adrian.

“Yeah,” Finnick says quietly, “Adrian.” He sees the flicker of recognition in her eyes. “He was older than me. He was my favorite person in the world.”

“What happened?” Katniss asks, staring over the water again.

Finnick grimaces. “Snow.” Katniss nods, her eyes following a seagull as it swoops over Annie and Adrian and dips into the water. 

“They took so much from us,” she says, and Finnick hears the hurt in her voice, remembers his own pain when Adrian’s loss was still fresh. He didn’t know Prim very long, only saw her and Katniss interact during their time in Thirteen, but seeing them together always reminded him of his brother. The way Katniss cared for Prim, fiercely protective even as her sister grew into her own strength and took on more responsibilities around Thirteen. The way Prim clearly grounded Katniss, helped her to be more soft, more relaxed, made her smile more than anyone else could. 

“Do you miss him?” Her voice is quiet.

Finnick chooses his words carefully, wanting to comfort her while still being honest about how painful his brother’s loss is, even all these years later. “I do,” he says truthfully. “Not in the same way I used to. Back when it first happened I couldn’t talk about him without breaking down.” He remembers how he couldn’t even talk to Mags, even when she tried to get him to open up. Annie was the first person he talked about Adrian with, in those weeks after her Games when she slowly started coming back to life. He’d been so relieved that she was getting better that he had wanted to tell her everything, wanted to hear her ask questions and laugh at his stories about Adrian.

“He, uh, he died during the Games the year before Annie’s. After that I acted like he never existed because it hurt too much to act any other way,” Finnick starts, feeling a lump rise in his throat. “When I was chosen as Annie’s mentor, I thought if I could just get her out alive, it would mean something. I couldn’t save him, but maybe I could save her.” He shakes his head slightly, trying to rid himself of the memory of his brother, lying on the floor, bloodied and bruised, calling his name while Finnick watched helplessly through a screen. “After she got out of the arena, we spent a lot of time together and eventually we started talking. She wanted to know the real stuff - like what his favorite color was, what the most annoying thing about him was.” He chuckles softly, remembering the quiet intensity Annie radiated when she listened to his stories. “She helped me get to know him again.” He meets Katniss’s eyes. “I’d rather it hurt to remember than forget everything,” he says seriously.

Katniss nods with a sad look in her eyes. “Sometimes I can’t breathe, I miss her so much.” She wipes a tear before it can fall down her cheek and continues. “Or I wake up and think I’ll look out the window and see her brushing that stupid goat. I see her everywhere.”

Finnick nods. “I still think about talking to him. Something interesting will happen, or I’ll have a good fishing day, or the baby will do something funny, and I’ll think I have to tell Adrian about that later. Then I remember.” He shrugs. “Grief is strange.” 

“Yeah,” Katniss agrees, “it is.”

They sit in silence again, but now it feels lighter, like something shifted during their conversation. They watch Annie and Peeta with Adrian by the waterline, now sitting together as Peeta scoops up piles of sand for Adrian to squish with his hands. 

“How is my mother?” Katniss asks after a few minutes. Finnick looks at her and sees some of Clara in her silhouette. He noticed in Thirteen that when Katniss and Clara were side by side, you almost couldn’t tell that they were related - he imagined Katniss took most of her appearance from her father. When Prim was in the mix, it was more clear, like she was the midpoint between her sister and mother, tying them together in a way they didn’t fit on their own. Now that he’s spent more time with Clara, though, he sees her resemblance in Katniss, in the set of her jaw when she’s deep in thought, the way she lifts her chin in defiance when she needs to appear confident.

“She’s managing,” Finnick says carefully. “She’s helped us a lot,” he adds, thinking how lost he and Annie would be as new parents without Clara’s gentle guidance. He sometimes feels guilty, sharing the joy of a new child with her when her loss is so fresh, but then he sees her eyes light up when she gets to hold Adrian, sees the way she smiles more freely watching him and Annie take on parenting, and considers maybe it’s healing for her, seeing their simple joys play out every day.

“It sounds like you helped her too,” Katniss says. “More than I have anyway,” she adds bitterly.

“Katniss, I’m sure all that matters to your mother is that you’re safe,” he says, remembering his father’s words after his Victory Tour. He’d said the only thing he needed was for his children to come home safe. Finnick thinks he understands that even more now that he’s a father. He thinks back to the times Clara has talked about Katniss and realizes, even as she’s said she’s not sure how to help her, or that she’s worried about her, it’s always undercut with a quiet relief - relief that after everything, Katniss is still there.

Katniss bites her lip and nods, still looking uncertain. “I don’t know how to talk to her,” she says quietly. “It’s never been easy for us, and now…” she trails off, and Finnick hears the unspoken, that Prim was the glue that held them together.

He waits for her to continue, but she seems lost in thought. “Now you can start small,” he suggests. “Take it one day at a time.” Katniss glances at him and he shrugs. “Talk about the weather,” he says with a chuckle, “it’ll get easier.” She nods, taking a deep breath as she looks over the horizon at the setting sun. The air is starting to cool and FInnick is about to suggest they start walking back to the house when Katniss speaks again.

“Thanks Finnick,” she says with a hint of a smile. “You know, I’m really glad I didn’t kill you.”

He laughs, his eyes twinkling. “The feeling is mutual.” He stands and brushes sand from his legs, then reaches out a hand to pull her to her feet. They rejoin Annie, Peeta, and Adrian and walk back to Clara’s house, where the table is set for dinner.

As they eat, he notices Katniss exchanging quiet words with Clara, both of them approaching the conversation tentatively, as if afraid the other will pull back if they come on too strong. He catches Peeta watching them too, a look of what Finnick thinks is relief on his face.  Annie nudges his foot with hers under the table and looks at where she sits across from him, a small smile on her face. Adrian, sitting on Annie’s lap while she eats, seems to notice the fragile atmosphere and takes his opportunity to knock Annie’s cup to the floor, shrieking with laughter when it clatters against the ground. The sound seems to burst open the tentative peace Katniss and Clara have reached and they bring the rest of the group into their conversation, the five of them talking and laughing while Adrian claps his hands and babbles in Annie’s arms.

As Finnick and Annie prepare to leave, Clara pulls Finnick to the side and whispers a quick “thank you” in his ear, squeezing his arm before going to clear the table. He watches her say something to Katniss that makes her laugh and he smiles, glad to see their progress since the tense reception this morning. He and Annie say their goodbyes and walk back home, Adrian dozing in Finnick’s arms. Once they put him to bed, they sit on the porch swing, both of them content to sit in silence and look at the stars. After a few minutes, Annie nudges Finnick and points down the lane towards Clara’s house, where they can see two figures sitting on the porch steps like Finnick used to do with Mags. In the glow of the moonlight he can just make out Clara and Katniss, deep in conversation, and he smiles, knowing how much it means to both of them to be able to find their way back to each other, to be able to lean on each other through their shared loss rather than let it be the thing that divides them. 

“I think they really will be okay,” Annie says quietly, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I think so too,” Finnick agrees, turning his head to kiss her softly. He is starting to believe that maybe they all will be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I also wrote a companion piece to this chapter from Annie’s point of view including a conversation between her and Peeta. I’ll post it in the next few days, so be on the lookout for that if you're interested. I'll edit this note to link it once it's posted. And then it’s the final chapter which I truly can't believe and may procrastinate posting because I want it to be perfect. Stay tuned :)
> 
> EDIT: [Here is the companion piece!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181271)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so delayed and for that I am sorry, but I wanted to get it right! In case you missed it, I also posted a companion to the previous chapter that you can read [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181271) And now for the last chapter. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

_Finnick returned from the Capitol yesterday, but his skin still crawls with the sensation of unwanted hands pulling at him. He slept in his own bed last night, too on edge to fall asleep next to someone else, even Annie, afraid he would lash out in the middle of the night and hurt her. She never touches him first when he gets back from the Capitol, as if she knows he needs time to re-orient himself to home, to remember that Annie won't hurt him. She waits for him to make the first move, to reach out and take her hand so she knows he’s ready. Sometimes he reaches for her as soon as he gets home, pulling her into a tight embrace and letting her warmth replace the cold left behind by the Capitol. Other times, like now, he needs more space, still prone to flinching when people get too close._

_After a restless night he now finds himself pacing outside of Annie’s house, willing himself to knock on the door but unable to take that step. He hears the door open and turns, feeling his heart race at the sight of Annie on the porch, barefoot with her hair blowing in her face from the strong wind coming off the ocean. They must be due for a storm. She watches him thoughtfully and appears to come to a decision, closing the door behind her and walking towards him, stopping a few feet away._

_“Come on,” she says purposefully, “let’s go for a walk.” Without waiting for an answer, she sets off down the lane towards the beach._ _Finnick jogs a little to catch up and falls into step next to her, letting his hand linger between them and graze the back of hers, feeling a jolt when they make contact. He keeps his hand there, not holding hers but letting them bump together as they walk, slowly letting himself feel comfortable with the contact._

_They get to the beach and he can see the storm clouds gathered on the horizon, can feel in the sharp undercurrent of the wind that it’s coming their way. The waves churn and he knows that if he were out on the water right now he’d be turning towards shore, racing to dock before the storm hits. Annie stops a few feet away from where the waves break on the sand and lowers herself to sit, gathering her skirt in her lap and burying her bare feet in the soft sand. She looks up at him and tilts her head to the side, inviting him to sit next to her. He sits, leaving space between them, and hugs his knees to his chest as he watches a particularly large wave crash into the shore, sending spray high into the air._

_“Looks like a big storm,” Annie says conversationally, her eyes fixed on the horizon. Finnick nods, not trusting his voice to say anything. He hates when he’s like this after a trip to the Capitol. He wants to laugh with her, to talk about the weather, to hold her, but his mind is still back in the Capitol, trapped in those glitzy rooms with people who only want to take things from him. And here is Annie, giving him space and care and he wants to accept it but he still finds himself pushing it away._

_“You don’t have to,” he starts, feeling his voice catch in his throat. He clears his throat and continues, “you don’t have to sit with me if you don’t want to.” He knows he isn’t good company right now and feels guilty for pulling her out of the house in this weather, though, he dimly reminds himself, she was the one who suggested they go for a walk._

_“I know,” she tells him, “I want to.”_

_“Why?” he asks before he can stop himself. He grimaces and looks away, not wanting to see what he imagines is a hurt expression on her face. From the corner of his eye he sees her watching him closely, as if she is studying every line of his expression and committing it to memory._

_“Because I love you,” she says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Finnick feels his heart race as he processes her words. She loves him. She loves him? He’s not the kind of person you love, he’s the kind of person you use and toss aside. He thinks about Annie, thinks about the way she always anticipates what he needs, how she seems to know what to say any time he needs to be pulled back from the brink, how she laughs at his jokes and listens to his fears. She loves him. He looks back at her and sees she has turned away, looking across the water as if she knows he needs to process what she said, because of course she knows his mind is going a mile a minute right now._

_Her hand rests on the sand between them and he’s reminded of that night when she first took his hand and kissed him, easily crossing the distance between them that had seemed too vast for him to conquer. He reaches out and laces their fingers together, anchoring himself to this moment, to her._

_“I love you too,” he says softly, and of course he does. All that time he spent pretending Annie was just another tribute was simply putting off the inevitable. He is inextricably tied to her and always will be. Loving her is as sure as the movement of the tides._

_She looks back at him and smiles, gently squeezing his hand and moving closer so she can rest her head on his shoulder. They stay that way, watching the waves crash on the shore, until the storm clouds roll in and the rain starts to fall. They run through the rain, holding tight to each other’s hands, and Finnick feels his heart beat a steady rhythm of she loves me, she loves me, she loves me. He wants to shout it to the entire district, wants to march to the Capitol and announce it in front of Snow and all his sycophants, wants everyone to know that he loves Annie Cresta and she loves him._

_When they get back to Annie’s house she hesitates, giving him a questioning look as if to ask if he wants to stay or if he needs another night on his own. In response to her silent question, Finnick leans down and kisses her, feeling the rain cool on their skin. They pull apart and she grins, pushing his wet hair out of his face._

_“Come on,” she says again, leading him into the house, and he follows, knowing he’d happily follow her anywhere._

\--

Sunlight glints off the ocean and Finnick shades his eyes, watching the distant view of the docks grow as the wind lazily pushes the boat back to shore. He hasn’t been fishing as often since Adrian was born. They have enough money that he doesn’t really need to, and he gives away most of what he catches anyway, but simply going through the routine of preparing the boat and sailing out onto the open water grounds him and helps him feel connected to his past, before the Games and the Capitol. 

Finnick feels his father’s presence on the open water, sometimes seeing flashes of him adjusting the sails or tossing a net over the side of the boat. He senses his brother there, too, laughing at his own joke as he ties off a line, or lounging on the deck and lazily repairing torn nets. More than anything, Finnick wishes he could tell them all about his life now, wishes they could meet Annie and Adrian and see that he’s finally found a way to be happy. Sometimes, Finnick finds himself talking out loud when he’s out on the water, telling his father and brother about Annie or a new milestone Adrian reached. He felt silly at first, talking to the wind and the waves, but it’s become a comfort for him. A part of him thinks that somehow, somewhere, his father and brother are listening.

The days he spent out on the water with his father and brother are some of his best memories from his childhood, when they could put the District behind them and focus on the moods of the sea. After he won the Games, after his father died, he desperately sought out that calm, leaving his empty house before the sun crept over the horizon and obsessively checking the sails, the rigging, the nets, until the sun rose higher in the sky and Adrian appeared on the docks to set sail with him. It was all too much, the Games, the Victory Tour, losing his father, and Finnick didn’t know what to do with everything that overwhelmed him, the sense that his life was not his own anymore, the sinking feeling that his victory was a double edged sword in a way he didn’t fully understand at the time. He and Adrian didn’t talk much during those trips, just exchanging brief words about the winds, the ocean conditions, the fish they caught. They didn’t need to talk, both of them relying on the routine and each other’s company to try and restore that elusive feeling of safety their fishing trips brought them as kids. Back then his father’s presence on the water felt suffocating, like Finnick was drowning in his grief and clinging to the boat was all he could do to keep himself from sinking. Now it’s more of a comfort than anything, a way to feel close to him and to honor his memory.

He can’t wait until Adrian is old enough to join him on the water, when he can start teaching his son to sail the way his father taught him. He hopes his son will also feel the presence of his ancestors, though he’ll never get to meet them. He can picture it, guiding his son’s hands through the knots and showing him how to capture the wind in the sails, passing on everything he learned growing up.

Finnick hopes his son won’t need to set sail to escape his life on shore, hopes it will be something they enjoy doing together just for the sake of it, not because his son is running from something. Maybe one day Adrian will have younger siblings to take out on the water, the way Finnick’s brother showed him. He and Annie haven’t talked about having more kids yet, Adrian still being so young, but when he imagines their future together he always imagines a big family. It’s a wish he’s slowly become more comfortable admitting to himself, the fear that it will be ripped away from him dissipating with each day that passes.

Now, he navigates the boat into the dock and sets about tying up the sails, working efficiently but quickly so he can get back home. While the pull of the ocean is strong, the pull he feels to his wife and son is even stronger. As he walks through the town square, he thinks about this being the second reaping season where there is no reaping, no Games, no train taking him to the Capitol and leaving Annie behind. Last year he’d been too stunned to really notice the difference, still half-convinced he’d wake up and be called to the square to stand on stage and watch as two more children had their lives stolen from them. The actual day traditionally reserved for the reaping passed quietly, with him and Annie staying home, neither of them wanting to let the other out of their sight. Walking through the town square now, all traces of the Capitol’s influence are gone. The town buzzes with energy as people stroll along, stopping to chat with neighbors and taking their time as they move about. A few people wave to him and he returns the gesture, no longer feeling like a pariah around the people of the district.

He takes the path to the Victors Village and smiles when he sees their house come into view, the flowers Annie planted in the spring blooming in the garden and windchimes twinkling on the porch. It’s a far cry from how the house first looked and felt when he moved in, with nothing but grief and fear for what his life would become to fill the empty rooms. He pushes through the door and smiles at the sound of Annie’s voice, singing to Adrian as he giggles and babbles along. He toes off his shoes in the doorway and follows the sound to the living room, turning the corner to see Annie holding Adrian in her arms and swaying around the room as she sings. She grins when she sees him and lifts Adrian’s hand to wave, nuzzling closer to him.

“Hi, love,” Finnick says, kissing her cheek and tousling Adrian’s hair. He reaches for Finnick and Annie passes him into Finnick’s waiting arms, staying close beside them.

“He’s excited for his sleepover tonight,” she says, winking at Finnick. Clara had announced over dinner the night before that she had some days off from the hospital and offered to watch Adrian for a night.

“You two are still newlyweds,” she exclaimed when they objected, not wanting her to feel burdened. “Have a night to yourselves. We’ll be just fine, won’t we?” she said to Adrian, tickling him lightly as he shrieked with laughter. 

After some pressing, Finnick and Annie had agreed, though now Finnick feels a tug in his heart when he thinks about spending a night apart. He trusts Clara, of course, but there is a part of him that is still always prepared for the worst, afraid to let his loved ones out of his sight. He can tell Annie has the same thought as they get ready to drop Adrian off at Clara’s for the night. She checks three times to make sure they packed his favorite blanket and is going to check a fourth time when Finnick gently takes the bag from her.

“We have everything,” he reassures her. “Besides, if we forget anything we’re right down the lane.” Annie nods and lifts Adrian to her hip, fussing with his unruly hair as they walk out the door. They drop him off at Clara’s house without incident, though Finnick notices Annie holding him a little tighter than usual, only hesitating slightly before handing him to Clara and giving him a kiss goodbye. They thank Clara profusely and Finnick reminds her again that she can call for them if anything goes wrong.

When the door closes behind them Finnick looks at Annie, a little bewildered. Though it scares him to be apart from his son, he has to admit Clara was right - it’s been months since he and Annie had time alone. “Now what?” he asks, laughing slightly. Annie takes his hand and sets off down the lane, leading him toward the beach. They walk along the sand in a comfortable silence, swinging their clasped hands between them. When they get to the water, Annie wades in, letting the water splash over her ankles. She looks back at him, her eyes sparkling as the sun reflects off the waves. 

“Remember when we taught Molly how to swim?” she asks suddenly, tilting her head to the side. Finnick nods, remembering the way her niece splashed around in the water, sputtering when her face submerged. He watches Annie carefully, looking for signs that her mind is trying to pull her away, but she just smiles at the memory. 

“I wish Adrian could know her,” she says softly, shrugging. “Fiona always wanted us to raise our kids together, even since we were little.” 

“I wish he knew her too,” Finnick says, pulling her into a tight embrace.

“It does have me thinking, though,” Annie says, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I know we never talked about it because we didn’t think we could, but…” she trails off. “What if we had another baby?” she whispers shyly, watching him carefully. 

“Do you want to?” He asks, holding around her waist and pulling her close. 

She nods, smiling softly. “I want so many babies with you,” she says, giggling. 

“Me too,” he whispers, resting his forehead against hers. 

“Well that’s good then,” she says, laughing. 

Finnick’s heart leaps in his chest and he lifts her up to spin her around, the sound of her laughter echoing across the water. He sets her down and leans in to kiss her, both of them smiling so widely it’s barely a kiss but he doesn’t care. She's right, they never thought they could have one child, let alone more. Of all the damage the Capitol did, he thinks the worst of it was that he couldn't dream of the future he wanted, couldn't make plans for what he wanted his life to be. Being able to speak those dreams out loud, to share them with Annie, it's a gift he won't take for granted.

“What should we do with our night to ourselves?” Annie asks, pulling him from his thoughts. 

Finnick cocks his head to the side. “I have some ideas,” he says with a mischievous grin, kissing her again. 

“Me too,” Annie says before leaning down to scoop up a handful of water and dump it over his head, laughing as he sputters indignantly. 

He shakes the water out of his hair and lets go of her waist, splashing water in her direction as she twists away and runs out of reach. “You’re in for it now,” he objects, still trying to reach her with a splash.

“You have to catch me first,” she teases, kicking more ocean spray in his direction. Finnick shakes his head and runs after her, his laughter coming freely as he dodges the waves and catches up to his wife, pulling her into his arms and lifting her out of the water, pressing kisses to her face as she giggles. 

“Caught you,” he whispers, setting her down gently. 

“Because I let you,” she replies, brushing his wet hair out of his eyes and kissing him softly. He grins and holds her tightly, watching the sun illuminate her face. 

It’s getting easier, building their life from the wreckage. When they first came home, Annie could hardly bring up her sister’s name without sinking into herself, overcome with grief. He knows the pain is still there, he can see it in her eyes, but the hope is there too. He feels it himself, that their survival isn’t a fluke, isn’t something that will be taken away if he lets his guard down. They can make plans for their future and know it's up to them, something they could never do before. Looking at Annie, he feels a warmth in his chest, secure in his feeling that no matter what happens, they have each other. 

\--

_Finnick refuses to leave Annie’s side while she is in the District Thirteen hospital. After the third night he spends curled up with her in the tiny hospital bed, Clara pushes one of the empty beds next to Annie’s so they have more room, but it doesn’t make a difference. They still squeeze together on one bed, as if afraid they’ll be pulled apart if there is any distance between them. When Annie is released from the hospital, they’re assigned a compartment in the same hallway as Clara and Prim, and Finnick gets the sense Clara made a special request so she could keep an eye on them._

_They spend their first day out of the hospital curled up together on the little bed, Finnick filling Annie in on what's been happening in Thirteen, his voice breaking as he tells her about revealing his secrets on camera, hoping it would be enough to get her out safely. They finally emerge for dinner, sitting by themselves in a corner of the dining hall, ignoring the curious glances shot their way._

_As they leave, Finnick leans in to whisper in Annie’s ear. “I have a surprise for you,” he says._ _He holds her hand gently and leads her through the winding hallways, gradually moving up the levels until they come to a door at the end of a long hallway where Clara and Boggs stand waiting for them. Clara gives a small wave and Finnick looks at Annie. “I could only get permission if I agreed to bring a guard and someone from the hospital,” he explains._

_“Permission?” Annie asks, perplexed._

_He leans in close to press a kiss to her temple and murmurs, “stargazing.”_

_Her lips turn up in a small smile, and Finnick almost bursts into tears at the sight, so rare these last few days._

_“Ready?” he asks, gesturing to the door. Boggs enters a code and swings the door open, letting a gust of cold air into the hallway. He steps outside first, looking from side to side in his military way, checking for threats that could be lurking in the darkness. Seeming satisfied, he nods to Finnick, who squeezes Annie’s hand tighter and leads her closer to the door._

_Annie hesitates in the doorway, clenching his hand. He stops and turns to look at her. “Do you want to go back?” he asks, concerned that he’s pushing her too far._

_“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I just… I haven’t been outside in so long.”_

_“We can go slow,” he says softly, watching her look around and take in the rubble around them, with boulders and concrete slabs jutting out of the ground while the dark of the forest rises in the distance. It’s so different from the open air and sandy beaches of Four, but at least they’re above ground. Annie takes a deep breath and steps through the doorway, letting out a surprised noise when her feet touch grass. Finnick stays next to her as she stops and turns her face to the sky, her eyes closed as she breathes in the night air. When she opens her eyes to look at him, Finnick sees a brightness in her eyes, like the fresh air is restoring some of what she has lost._

_Clara and Boggs give them space, staying close to the doorway as Finnick leads Annie to a flat rock at the edge of the rubble. He unfurls one of the blankets he brought and straightens it on the rock’s surface before gesturing for Annie to sit. He settles next to her and wraps the other blanket over their shoulders, pulling Annie close to his side as she rests her head on his shoulder._

_“Thank you,” she whispers, turning to look at him. He leans down to kiss her forehead, softly, as if afraid she might break. She smiles again, that small, fragile smile, and turns her head to the sky. “They’re all there,” she says softly, her eyes searching for their familiar constellations._

_“In the arena,” Finnick starts, his voice faltering. “The stars were wrong. There were no shapes. I kept looking, trying to imagine we were seeing the same thing, but I couldn’t find any of our stars.”_

_She looks at him seriously, her eyes wide and bright from the light of the moon. “They weren’t real,” she whispers, placing her hand on his cheek. “This is real.” She sounds uncertain, like she’s trying to convince herself._

_Finnick puts his hand over hers on his cheek and nods. “This is real,” he confirms._

_She nods. “I know,” she says quietly, “I could never touch you in the dreams.” She says it so matter-of-factly, but Finnick feels his heart break as he imagines the pain she’s been through. He holds her tighter, wanting to make up for all the lost time, all the dreams where they were just out of reach of each other. If he gets his way, he’ll never let go of her again._

_“What do you think will happen now?” she asks, leaning into him._

_“I don’t know,” he says honestly, “but things are changing.” He’s been in the briefings, he knows the rebels are still outgunned, but he also knows there is more resistance to the Capitol than anyone expected. Thirteen hums with an indescribable energy - like everyone around feels change coming, somehow knows something he doesn’t about what the future holds._

_At the thought of the future, Finnick turns his head to look at Annie, still looking up at the stars, moonlight illuminating her features and dancing in her eyes. The only future he cares about is his future with Annie. He’s never been allowed to want that but now, far from home in this district everyone thought was destroyed and yet it survived all those years, growing stronger every day, he lets himself think about what he wants his future to be. The answer comes to him so quickly, like it was just waiting for him to finally ask._

_“Let’s get married,” he blurts, amazed at how right the words feel as they pass through his lips. Annie raises her eyebrows and looks at him, a surprised smile growing on her lips. “I mean it,” he continues earnestly. “Annie, I don’t know what is going to happen next. All I know is that whatever future I have, I want to spend it with you.” Annie’s smile has grown and she takes in his words with tears in her eyes. “What do you think?” he asks quietly, taking her hands in his. “Will you marry me?”_

_“Finnick,” she whispers, her voice catching. She lets out a dazed laugh and focuses her eyes on his. “Yes,” she says simply, nodding her head. “Of course I will,” she adds as she leans in to kiss him. It’s a short kiss, sweet, and when they break apart Finnick presses their foreheads together, feeling tears fall on his cheeks as he laughs in disbelief._

_“I love you,” he says, pressing kisses all over her face as she giggles, the sound of her laughter making his heart race._

_“I love you,” she breathes, still watching him with a smile._

_Out of the corner of his eye, Finnick sees Boggs waving to get his attention, then pointing at the schedule on his arm to signal their time is up. Finnick gathers the blankets and takes Annie’s hand as they follow their escorts back inside. Once indoors, Boggs gives a curt nod and sets off down the hall, leaving them to follow Clara back to their compartment, both of them giggling and clinging to each other as if the short trip aboveground removed all the worry and fear that have haunted them their entire lives._

_Clara bids them goodnight and they go back to their compartment where they stand in the dim light, Finnick holding Annie’s face in his hands as his heart nearly beats out of his chest. Annie leans in and then they’re kissing and his hands are in her hair and her hands pull at his jumpsuit and they’re moving back towards the bed and they haven’t done this since before- Finnick stops and pulls back to look at Annie’s face. “Are you sure?” he asks._

_“Yes,” she says, leaning in to kiss him again. “I want you,” she breathes against his lips. Finnick leans into the kiss and loses himself in her, feeling every inch of her body against his. They take their time, re-learning the topography of each other’s bodies, every touch like fire on their skin._

_After, they lie pressed together under the scratchy District Thirteen-issued blanket, Annie resting her head on Finnick’s chest as he absentmindedly strokes her hair. She takes his other hand in hers and gently twists their fingers together, drawing patterns on his palm with her light touch._

_“I’ve wanted to marry you for so long,” she breathes._

_“Me too,” Finnick whispers with a smile, brushing his lips over her hair. “Longer than I think I even knew.” He had spent so long trying to keep himself from falling that he failed to realize his heart had belonged to Annie Cresta since the day they met._

_“Things are changing,” she says, echoing his words from earlier. “We could have a baby,” she whispers, turning her head to look up at Finnick. Her green eyes fill with a hope so tender that Finnick feels tears pool in his own eyes and Annie lets go of his hand to reach up and wipe them away._

_He wants that future, so badly, but he’s still terrified to want it, terrified to put it into words. He knows Thirteen is a district of soldiers, he knows he’s one of the best they have, he knows he’ll be called to duty and that he’ll go, if only to play some part in destroying the force that controlled so much of his life. He knows the role he has to play. What he doesn’t know is what will come after, if he will even make it out alive. He wants to have this time with Annie, wants to believe their future stretches in front of them, vast as the ocean, but he can’t allow himself to look past the shore. They’ll have to talk about it soon, the likelihood that he will leave again with no promise to return, but he can’t bring himself to disturb this moment._

_They just found each other again, they’re going to get married, and that’s all that matters right now. Looking in Annie’s eyes, seeing the fragile hope that he thought he would never see on her face again, he allows himself to see it, allows himself to imagine their life together, having children, growing old together. He sees them sitting on the front porch of Annie’s house, old and gray, while their children and grandchildren laugh and tell stories around them._

_“Yeah,” he says thickly, “we could.” She brings his hand to her lips and kisses it softly, still watching him with a hopeful smile._

_“We have time,” she says gently and he wonders if she can hear his thoughts, or if she just knows him well enough to know that’s where his mind is going, his fear that they’ll never have enough time. As always, she knows just what to say to pull him back to the surface, letting him focus on the moment in front of him. They may not know how much time they have, but they have this, right now. They’re together and safe and they’re getting married. There is more hope for their future now than they’ve ever had before. Finnick leans down and kisses her softly, letting that hope take root in his chest, if only for tonight._

\--

Adrian’s first birthday arrives faster than Finnick can believe it, the long days of summer turning into autumn in the blink of an eye. The night before, Annie and Finnick relax on the porch swing after putting their son to bed. Annie tucks her feet under her and curls into Finnick’s side, stifling a yawn as he puts his arm around her.

“A year,” Annie says, awestruck, “can you believe it?” 

Finnick shakes his head. This last year has been surreal and he still catches himself thinking it’s all a dream he’ll soon wake up from. And yet every day he wakes to Annie and their son and it hasn’t gone away yet. He breathes easier now, no longer paralyzed by fear at every moment, waiting for the next person to tear away pieces of himself.

“Did you ever think we’d end up here?” she asks suddenly, lifting her head to look at him.

“Not at first,” he admits. He’d been under the Capitol’s control for five years before he met Annie, he’d seen his father and brother die, met other victors who warned him it was a life he could never escape. Annie was like a breath of fresh air, opening his eyes to the possibility of something else, something more, but he resisted for so long, afraid to admit what he wanted only to have it ripped away from him. “When the rebellion talk started, I thought about it. What it would mean if we won. I don’t think I really believed we’d both get out until we were in Thirteen.” Without thinking, he pulls her closer, remembering the relief he felt when he saw her in that hospital. “What about you?” he asks curiously. “Did you think we’d get here?”

She gazes at him thoughtfully. “I always wanted us to. Even before there was an us. I wanted you to find…” she trails off. “I don’t know. Peace, I think. You were always fighting so hard. I thought you had to be able to stop fighting some day.”

Finnick watches her, feeling tears prick in his eyes. It still strikes him sometimes, how clearly she sees him. There are times that he thinks Annie knows him better than he knows himself. He leans in and kisses her softly and thinks she’s right, he did find peace. They pull apart and Annie looks at him fondly, leaning her head on his shoulder. 

“I don’t think I’d be here if it wasn’t for you,” Finnick admits, feeling a lump in his throat. “There were so many times I wanted to give up, but then I’d think about you. All I wanted was more time with you.”

“Now you have it,” she whispers, lifting her hand to his cheek, her touch warm on his skin. “And I’m the one who wouldn’t be here without you.”

Finnick shakes his head. “No,” he says, “you would’ve made it anyway. You’re so strong. That was the first thing I noticed about you, when we met.” He notices her puzzled expression and shrugs. “On the train,” he explains, remembering the way she looked at him with a gaze so strong and steady that he’d had to look away, certain she could see through his put-on confidence to the grief he was trying desperately to bury. “You didn’t let any of it get to you. And then after…” He trails off, suddenly feeling an urgency to make sure Annie knows how much he admires her and how much she’s done for him. “You kept going, through everything. You made me want to keep going too.” He watches Annie blush and kisses her temple, holding her closer and trying to put all the love he feels into his embrace.

“Let’s say we saved each other and call it even,” Annie says, laughing slightly. 

“Deal,” Finnick answers. He kisses her again, lazily, knowing they have all the time in the world.

The next day they celebrate Adrian’s birthday, though Finnick knows their son doesn’t understand the significance. It's more for them, to take time to reflect on how far they've come, how much things have changed for the better. Clara arrives in the afternoon, bringing a hand-knitted sweater and a beautifully frosted cake.

“Delivery from District Twelve,” she says with a wink. Finnick recognizes the delicately frosted waves, reminiscent of his and Annie’s wedding cake that Peeta made while recovering from the Capitol’s torture. 

“How sweet,” Annie says, embracing Clara and passing off a sleepy Adrian for her to hold. “Too much excitement for him,” she says fondly, watching her son doze in Clara’s arms. He perks up in time to have cake, giggling as he smears the blue frosting over his face while the adults laugh.

After Clara leaves, they walk down to the beach, Finnick carrying a picnic basket while Annie carries Adrian. When they get to the sand, she sets him down gently on his feet, holding his hands as he wobbles over the sand, taking purposeful steps forward until he falls backward and laughs, choosing to crawl instead. Finnick watches him, amazed that he’s grown so much, remembering a year ago when he was almost afraid to hold his son because he thought he would break. Now he crawls everywhere, endlessly curious about the world, and started walking one day with no warning, as if he just decided it was something he could do. If he falls he simply gets up and keeps going - his determination reminding Finnick so much of Annie.

They pick a spot on the sand to sit and Finnick settles beside Annie. They watch as Adrian plays in the sand, lifting up handfuls of the white powder and letting them fall through his fingers. Finnick feels tears prick in his eyes as he thinks about the years to come, watching Adrian grow up in a world so different from the one his parents knew. He knows that he will do anything to keep his son happy, to keep the light of curiosity and joy in his eyes ablaze. Finnick looks on as Annie lifts Adrian onto her lap and cuddles him close, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as he gazes at her adoringly. He tries to stop his mind from racing, from thinking too far into the future about what could happen, and instead focuses on this moment and the love he feels for his family. He thinks about how somehow, against all odds, he and Annie found each other, and she was brave enough to love him for all his faults and scars, and he loved her in a way that terrified him but ultimately was his saving grace. He watches her with their son and sends a silent thank you to whatever forces in the universe converged to give them this life, this opportunity to be happy and to build something beautiful from all the pain they went through.

Annie looks up with a smile and catches him watching her. “What?” she asks, amused.

“Nothing,” he says, smiling. “I’m just happy.”

Annie smiles and leans in to kiss him softly. “Me too,” she whispers, beaming.

Finnick feels his heart swell and lets himself settle into the comfortable happiness he feels in this moment. This home, this feeling of safety, this family he nearly lost everything to create, this is his reason for all of it. After all the scars, all the wounds that will never quite heal, all the ways he was broken down, this is what will put him back together, filling in the cracks with care and love. As he watches Annie laugh at their son throwing handfuls of sand in the air, he knows this is everything he needs. This is worth living for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s all, folks! This came about because I re-watched/re-read The Hunger Games series for the first time in years and discovered that I’m still as sad about Finnick’s death as I was when Mockingjay was published ten years ago. I came on AO3 looking for a fic where Finnick and Annie get their happy ending and surprisingly didn’t find many, and then this idea sort of took root and here we are. This was a lot of fun to write, and was something totally new to me. Thank you so much to everyone who read, left kudos, left comments, subscribed, etc. It really has made me so happy to see people responding to this story. Thank you thank you thank you.


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